In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated
by CoyPiay
Summary: A scorned woman finds herself in deeper waters, playing a game of keeps with SHILED. Siri's life hangs in the balance as she learns that love is learning to stand on your own, and finding out that you need another to do so. Steve becomes a desperate man. SEQUEL to "Remembered". Steve/OC. Rating for language. I am happy to present the long awaited Chapter 10!
1. Woman Scorned

**In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated**

**Chapter 1: Woman Scorned**

* * *

I shivered in the warmth of the late afternoon sunlight. The damp grass under my legs chilled me. I watched as a huge man with huge hair and huge calf muscles grabbed one of Aspen's rugby team members by the back of the neck and threw him down with little effort. The whistle blew.

The Gents, the team Gabe played for, were having their asses handed to them by a team from England who wore polka dot jerseys and huge muscles. Gabe, garbed in the red and black stripes of the Gents, had laughed when he saw the opponent's uniform. He wasn't laughing now. My ex-boyfriend was hunched over, hands on knees, breathing hard and probably swearing loudly. I couldn't hear it; he was at the other end of the field.

I hadn't watched any of his games this summer, and I had promised him I would watch at least one. The yearly tournament Aspen hosted called Ruggerfest seem as good as time as any.

And I had to get out of the house.

So on my day off from teaching at a local dance studio, I had walked Pogo, my neurotic, ginger-colored Cockapoo down to the field. I had known it wasn't a good idea to bring him. I did it anyway; I didn't want to be alone. Pogo was bonkers around other dogs and people.

I had his leashed tightly wound around my hand. He sat on my feet, whining and shaking as all the other dogs either rode calmly in doggy purses the Aspenites carried, or peed on electrical boxes, or barked at one another happily. I pulled Pogo into my chest and he licked my chin gratefully. We were a good couple, Pogo and I; we were both a little crazy.

I was cold, even with my long-sleeved shirt and jacket. Other people lounged in the shade of the evergreens lining the filed, in shorts and tees, some men without shirts. I got a few strange looks from passersbys. I chose not to be near the crowds seated on the temporary bleachers. I sat at the end of the field, in the soft sunlight.

Golden aspen leaves fell on me when the wind brushed the trees overhead. Pogo watched, concerned, as the shadows of the leaves flitted over the grass, tracking where each one fell so he could destroy it later.

I wished it felt good to be outside on such a nice autumn day. The mountains towering over town were mottled with changing colors—reds, yellows, and oranges mixed in with the shades of greens. The sky was blue like only a Colorado sky could be.

But I hadn't felt good, or warm, for months.

Another Gent was taken down yards from where I sat. I heard the bodies smack one another as men piled on top. I still didn't quite understand the rules of the game. I got that it was a bit like football, but the problem was, I had no idea how football worked either. Rugby was rough. That much was clear. Gabe had broken his collar bone three times over the years of playing on the Gents' team.

The greasy hot smell of french fries and hamburgers wafted down from the over-priced, local beef using burger joint. It made me want to gag. My stomach already hurt enough as it was. Pogo whined. I thought about going home before the match was over, but decided against it. I didn't think my mother had had enough time to calm down. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

She had thrown her phone at me this time. She missed, uncoordinated as she was, but it was the thought that had counted. The intent.

My mother had gotten worse since I had come home. Talking to her on the phone that day in New York was just a preview of her fury. I knew that my temporary disappearance wasn't the only reason she was so out of sorts. I knew it was that Thor had been on earth, and Loki. It was all over the news. My Asgardian brothers, from whom she stole me, were closer to catching her than they had ever been.

But she didn't know that I knew, and I had to keep it that way, because as soon as she knew, she would be uncontrollable. The reason I came home was to keep her happy, so that she wouldn't do anything stupid, like destroy Earth.

At least SHILED told me that she could do that. I laughed at them, at first, skeptical. But Coulson had shown me a file he had been working on, while he was pretending to be dead. The file told an undeniable truth. A truth that has haunted me.

My mother has lied to me for almost twenty years. She told me I was adopted. She did not tell me that she kidnapped me to get back at my family for putting her in prison, and then exiled us on Earth, used magic to conceal our location and raised me as her own.

The file said she was a dangerous enchantress. I had pictured Snow White's stepmother, offering her a poison apple. My mother was not that. She may be Asgardian, and an enchantress, but she was not evil.

And despite everything, the lies, what she had done, and her temper as of late, I still loved her. It was down to my bones that I loved her. It was my very being, and there was nothing I could do to stop loving her. She and I had always been together.

When I told Director Fury I was going home even though I was knowingly heading into the arms of an angry alien enchantress, he had literally laughed.

"Now you decide to grow a spine."

I really didn't miss that guy.

I went through an angry couple of weeks when I got back to Aspen. My leg had indeed healed, but the muscle had atrophied in the boot, leaving me with a leg that could walk, run and skip, but not dance in pointe shoes. My ankle was weak and gave out if I tried to perform the pieces I had learned for the summer season. Carina, my understudy took my parts.

I was more irate than I had ever been at that point. I was mad at my mother for what she was and what she did and what she did not tell me. And I was mad at my leg for not being strong enough. I was especially mad at my fellow company members, the artistic director, my physical therapist, and Carina, all telling me that it was ok to take one season off to heal fully from what they thought was a bad ankle sprain and a stress fracture in my knee.

When I was too tired to be mad I cried where no one could hear me, which was pretty much on hiking trails and in the shower. I felt sorry for myself for a while, slept a lot. My mother didn't help. She pried. She wanted to know what the problem was. One season of missed dancing wasn't the end of the world.

She was convinced that I was lying about my trip to Germany, which I was. But I had to persuade her that it was just dance-related depression. I am not generally a great liar, so I distanced myself from her.

It scared her. The ferocity of her needing to know that I was lying scared me. I began to realize that Coulson was right: my mother was dangerous. The further I pulled away, the harder she clung. Me coming home to keep her happy was a joke. We were both miserable. All my decision to stay on Earth had gotten me was a fear of my own mother, a boat load of loneliness, and an ulcer.

So when I told her I was moving to New York, you can imagine how she reacted. And that reaction was precisely why I was now sitting on sodden grass with Pogo, instead of at home.

Pogo squirmed out of my arms and began to pull up mouthfuls of turf, tossing them to the side with pig-like grunts. His tail went wild. At least he was happy.

I pulled my legs into my chest, wrapped my arms around, and rested my chin on my knees. My eyes closed. The sunlight played over my heavy eyelids. The crowd clapped and cheered. Someone scored a try. I at least knew that much terminology.

Pogo barked and I opened my eyes to see black bird that had landed not five feet away. It was huge and its feathers reflected daylight. It perched, not startled by the noise my dog was making. It cocked its head, staring me down creepily.

Just what I needed, an ominous sign.

Pogo pulled at his leash that was attached to my wrist in a sudden burst of energy. I was much bigger and stronger than him, though. I closed my eyes again. I ignored the bird and all the black thoughts it brought me. The dog did not ignore it. He fought bravely against his leash, plucking my arm away from my legs in inches.

"Hi there buddy," a male voice intoned. Pogo yapped more vigorously and I opened my eyes again, ready to reel my dog in before he peed on another stranger.

I didn't believe what I saw. My heart dropped, squeezed out all the blood and then turned over in my chest. It was a trick. Or I had fallen was a night mare. No, a dream come true. Anything but real. It couldn't be.

I blinked into the sunlight, trying to get a better look at the man standing above me. It was just a trick of the light, I told myself. Not who I thought it was.

Pogo gave up on trying to be ferocious and rolled over for a tummy rub. The man bent to comply.

It was no trick.

It was Steve.

I was light headed. I couldn't feel my feet. He wasn't supposed to be here. Was I breathing?

"Siri!" Another male voice called to me. It was Walter, my sixty-five year old step-father in his plaid old man shorts and polo shirt with a beer in one hand, waving at me from down the sidewalk I sat in front of.

I stood up in a rush, and Pogo twisted out from under Steve's hands to sit on one of my feet nervously, tail thumping. Steve stood up too, just as Walter arrived.

"Siri." Walter said again. He and I hardly talked, let alone in public. It was almost as strange to have him grinning at me with his dentures as it was having Steve fucking Rodgers petting my dog.

"Hi." I managed, turning to Walter, prepared to introduce Steve.

"Siri, I want you to meet, Steve Rodgers." Walter said.

I froze. I wasn't sure if I had heard him right. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

My dorky trillionaire grandfather-aged step-dad knew Steve Rodgers. And was grinning at him as if they were old buddies.

"Pleasure to meet you." Steve stuck out his hand. I stared at it.

Walter, sensing my hesitation but interpreting it the wrong way, clapped Steve on the back. "This here man is one of the greats. A real golden age hero. And an old friend." The old man waggled his eye brows at Steve, who blushed and put his empty hand away.

I thought of Walter's Captain America collection and wondered if this was actually happening.

My heart had traveled into my throat. I tried to swallow it down.

"And this here, my dear, is Tony Stark, from Stark Industries." Walter shifted and Tony stepped into view. I hadn't even seen him, what with being distracted with the sky falling. And pigs flying.

Not only was Steve here, crashing my regular life, but Iron Man was here, too.

"I knew Tony's father way back. Howard. I told you about Howard Stark, didn't I, hun?" He had told me a hundred times. "He and I actually have the same name. His second middle name is Walter. Isn't that ironic?" Walter's grin was huge. I had never seen him so happy. I didn't have the heart to tell him that irony had nothing to do with it.

"Also, as a side note, I am Iron Man." Tony said.

"And his friend. Bruce, is it?" Dr. Banner smiled and nodded at Walter. I didn't have any more room left in my brain to be surprised at seeing another superhero.

"Siri?" Tony did not offer his hand. "Like the magic voice the iPhone 4S?"

"What's that?" Walter asked, inclining his head towards Tony.

"It's nice to meet you," Dr. Banner took my hand and gave it a squeeze and a pump.

"Yeah," was all I could come up with. I licked my lips. My eyes darted between the three of them. My eyes stuck on Steve, though. He looked right back at me. I couldn't read his expression.

I thought I was going to pee my pants with confusion.

"My boys are here for Ruggerfest." Walter gestured to the field. I knew this had to be a lie. I didn't think Steve knew what Rugby was and there was no way Tony cared about organized sports. Bruce's eyes, though, followed the game knowingly.

The four of us turned to watch the game. I took the moment to breathe, check that my heart was still beating, that Pogo was still there, and to try to pull myself together.

Okay. So people I thought I would never see again were here. And they knew Walter. And they were apparently best friends. And they were here. Why were they here?

I noticed Gabe standing in the middle of the field, completely distracted by the group of men surrounding me.

"I thought we would take them to Brexi for an early supper." The awkwardness went completely over Walter's head. "It's Emelia's favorite," he explained to the three men.

Oh yeah. Sure. Lets invite the Avengers to dine with my totally freaked enchantress of a mother.

"Sounds lovely." Bruce said, distracted by the scrum.

"Oh she is!" Walter laughed at his own joke.

This couldn't happen.

My mother was going to take one look at Iron Man and explode. And then the Hulk would probably explode, too. And then raze all of Aspen.

But I couldn't think of what to say. Walter didn't know that I knew them. Walter didn't know his wife was an alien, either. Did she know Walter knew the people she hated and feared most?

As if this couldn't get any more bizarre and complicated, Gabe half limped half jogged right off the field, towards us. Angry shouts from the other Gents and the coach followed him. Another player ran out to replaced him, giving Gabe the bird.

"Gabe boy!" Walter called him over, waving his hand. I had never seen Walter like this. It was like he was ten years younger, excited about life for the first time in years.

This was too much to handle. All the facets of my life, including the secret, uncomfortable ones, were crashing and overlapping, making things blurry.

"Hey!" Gabe's face dripped with sweat. He flung an arm over my shoulder, knocking me forward with its weight. I got a great whiff of armpit before I shrugged out from underneath. "Who's your buddies, babe?" I scowled at the causal use of the pet name reserved for couples. Which we were not. I had to keep reminding him we were not together.

"Tony Stark, Stark Industries," Said Tony.

Gabe, the goof ball he is, didn't recognize the name. "Oh, cool, dude. I'm Gabrielle, angel of death. Of the great game. Rugby." He said dramatically. And then spat into a clump of treesWe stood silently, trying to figure out what he meant.

"Bruce Banner." Bruce shook his hand, breaking the tension, keeping the peace.

Ironically.

Since he is the hulk and apparently a very angry person.

Never mind.

Steve eyeballed Gebe, from his hairy, beefy calves to the short athletic shorts, and the sweat drenched jersey, and the ridiculous band he wore that pulled longish hair off his face.

"Steve."

"Gabe." Gabe's chest puffed like a bro, trying to match Steve's size as they shook hands.

"Well, we are off to super. Tell your old man hello for me." Walter said, taking a long gulp of beer and sticking his free hand in his pocket to jingle loose change uneasily.

"Will do, Walter." Gabe said, but didn't look away from Steve. "See you, babe." He turned around and ran back to the sidelines to explain just why he had abandoned the game during the most important tournament of the season.

"Cute kid." Tony said.

"Real cute." Steve added.

"Oh yeah. He's a good boy." Said Walter, finishing off his beer.

* * *

Steve and I walked up the steep hill, towards Aspen Mountain. Pogo trotted behind Steve's ankles, forcing him to be careful where he put his feet. We were dropping the dog off at home and picking up my mother for dinner. Walter, Bruce and Tony and gone on to the restaurant to pre-game the dinner at the bar. I couldn't stop looking at Steve as he matched my pace, despite the high altitude. I wasn't trying to walk fast; I wasn't in a hurry to show my mom what I found. Who I found. I was just having a hard time processing. Steve was comfortable with my silence the vigorous pace, taking in the sights of the circa 1900s brick buildings. He finally broke our silence.

"You leg looks much better," was what he said.

I snorted a laugh.

"How have you been?" he pressed on.

I bit the insides of my cheeks. There was no way I was doing this. I ducked quickly behind an apartment complex, into an empty garden courtyard. A central fountain trickled happily. Leaves floated in the small pond underneath. I turned to face him.

"Truth or dare?" I said.

He took a step back, taken completely aback by the question and my sudden change of direction.

"What?"

"Truth or dare, Steve. Pick one." My nerves were getting the best of me.

"Truth?" He said, uncertainly.

"Fine. The truth is you were the one who drove away. The truth is that I still can't dance on my leg. The truth is that I haven't slept more than three hours a night for two months."

I hadn't been planning on doing this. I was just going to keep myself together, pretend that I was fine here, that we were all just best friends for life. But months of stuffing everything inside for fear of my mother and fear of SHEILD finding out I was a rat, had turned me into land mine. Steve just stepped on me. Here was my explosion.

"So what's your truth, Steve? Hmm? What are you doing here? Why are you doing this? Don't you get how dangerous my mother is? If she sees any of the Avengers here, she is going to freak. And you don't even understand what that will look like, because I don't even know what exactly she is capable of. And I have lived with her for nineteen years.

"And on that note, _dare_. Here's your dare: go to dinner with her. See what happens. Think you can take her on. Think again." Something crossed my mind, then. What if they could take her? What would they do to her? "But don't you dare touch her. She is still my mother." I added, kind of dropping the ball on making a case for myself. I knew it didn't make sense. Love didn't make sense.

When I was done, Steve was still standing, hands clasped behind his back, stony faced, tracing my anger. He had survived the explosion. I guess he really was indestructible. I waited, annoyed, for his reply.

After a couple of moments of me smoking from the heat of my explosion he stepped closer, impeding on my personal space. I stood my ground. He had only to incline his head a couple of inches to look me right in the eye.

I froze, my heart pounding. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me to him.

"I'm sorry." I felt the words rumble in his chest, vibrate through me and warm me. I did not return the embrace. He didn't let me go, though.

"It's going to be ok, Siri. We will figure this out. She isn't going to hurt anyone, I won't let her. Especially you."

I pushed him away. He didn't get it. "I don't want _her_ to get hurt."

"She wont. Walter is our alibi. I knew him before the accident. He worked with Howard and the helped start The Brotherhood of the Shield and was apart of the V-Battlion."

"The what?"

"SHIELD before it was SHIELD."

"So you are here…to tell old war stories? Catch up?" I was cooling off. Maybe he was right.

"Yes. That and check that you are OK." He looked away from me. "I don't like they way we left it."

I didn't know what to say. I sighed. "Fine. But if anything goes wrong—"

"It won't." He cut me off.

I tried to trust him.

* * *

Walter did a good thing, picking Brexi. The restaurant was my mother's favorite. It was also in public, so she had to behave. Well, let's just say she wouldn't throw anything. It was clear that she did not recognize Steve without his Captain America suit, nor his name. She was actually excited to see a handsome man, a friend of Walter, escorting her daughter to the front door. And Steve knew how to turn on the charm.

He held doors, and called her mamm and complimented her earrings. He flexed his arms when he caught her staring and put his hand on the small of my back, guiding me out of danger of the street as we walked to Brexi. She flirted back shamelessly, giving me looks of excitement. She was probably planning our wedding.

If I wasn't so strung out on fear and irritation, I would have laughed.

Her possessiveness returned, however, when we got to the restaurant and she recognized Tony Stark sitting at the bar, next to Walter. Her good mood melted away with each step we took towards the men. I could see the emotions play across her face. The disbelief and shock. Her eyes narrowed, suspecting fowl play. Then the fear. That's what got me. I took her hand and pulled her forward.

"Emelia!" Walter stood immediately and kissed her full on the lips. "I want you to meet my old friend's son." Tony smiled a tight-lipped greeting. He didn't seem comfortable with what he probably thought was charity work."This is Howard's son, Tony. Tony, this is my wife, Emeila." Dr. Banner stuck his head around Tony. "Oh! And his friend, Bruce. Here for Ruggerfest. Dropped by to say a hello to an old friend."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, boys," said my mother, dripping with the essence of a woman I hardly knew. A seductress. It was embarrassing. Right here in front of Walter, she pulled her shoulders back, puckered her lips slightly and played with her hair.

I knew that she knew that Tony knew who she really was. Yet she directed her attentions mostly at Iron Man. It was like she was trying to tell him something. She flaunted her hidden identity, rubbing it in his face, daring him to react. A threat.

Oh Lord. I knew this was a bad idea.

Tony did not take the bait though. He drank two more glasses of scotch after we were seated at our preferred table. Walter was either stupid or very forgiving. He didn't even seem to notice how Emelia ignored him and prodded Tony relentlessly. I was squirming in my seat trying to figure how to walk this tight rope.

"So how do you guys know each other, exactly?" I decided to turn the attention to Walter, hoping this was the safest route.

"I was an intern for Stark Industries my sophomore year of college. Well it wasn't called Stark Industries then. It was just Howard in his basement, being a genius. I helped subsidize the Industries with a trust fund. You could say I bought my way in." He laughed towards Tony. The table was completely still, taken in. I had never known exactly his relationship with the Starks. Tony looked like he wanted another drink. This was the quietest I had ever seem him.

"Howard wouldn't give me the time of day, at first," Walter continued. "A young green buck studying mechanical engineering. I had a thing for Howard's robots, though, and I knew I had to get in on it. We called it the Arsenal, the robots." Walter trailed off, staring through the walls of the restaurant, reminiscing.

We all sat, stunned. All except Tony, who just looked uncomfortable at the unearthing of his father's past. And my mother, who clenched and unclenched her jaw.

The waitress knew our first names and our favorite dishes. We were a family of habit, coming here often and ordering the same plates.

"And Siri, here is moving to New York." Walter said as if continuing a conversation.

My mother dropped her fork. Steve Bruce and Tony quit eating to stare at me. Walter grinned proudly. I blushed.

"Which brings me to the next order of business," Walter chuckled, pulling his wallet out. He slipped a folded piece of paper out, unfolded it and handed it to me. It was a google map. It took me a second to figure out it was New York, specifically Manhattan. He had circled a block of the map in pencil and drawn lines to other spots on the map, starting at the circle and moving outward to spots he had underlined.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Your new address." Walter said.

"My…"

"I found an apartment in West Village. It's out of range of the disaster zone, in a really artsy part of town. And safety rating is through he roof. The guy I bought it off was selling it for two-thirds the original price. He just couldn't stand being in New York anymore. Not after the attack. But it's furnished and paid for."

I gaped at my step-father for a second. Then did what I had never done before: I hugged him. I was getting out.

* * *

**Hi beautiful readers! I hope I haven't left you hanging for too long. I am quite excited for this sequel. I want to make it right for Siri. And of course Steve. Things have gotten a bit complicated, huh? Let me know what you think : )**

**Until next time,**

**Coy.**


	2. You Had Me at 'Thor'

**In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated**

**Chapter Two: You Had me at 'Thor'**

* * *

**It's new dawn**

**It's new day **

**It's a new life**

**And I'm feeling good.**

I was like swimming, in a way, or floating down a current, trapped in the middle of a school of fish. I wasn't pushed or jostled or even touched, but I had no choice of where on the sidewalk I was going to step. There was no impeding the flow of foot traffic, no time to look up, again, at the massive buildings towering above, and definitely no stopping. It was like being on an especially terrifying freeway, only at a slightly slower pace. Only slightly.

I didn't dare bring out my homemade map for fear of tripping while distracted and then being trampled by businessmen, tourists and locals of every shape and size. I was not he tallest on the street, for once in my life. There didn't seem to be a certain fashion or culture everyone donned. It was all fashions and cultures. All ethnicities and genders and social standings. And they all smelled of different perfumes and colognes and foods.

Not for the first time, even in the last hour, I was overwhelmed. I might as well have moved to Asgard; New York was just as alien.

But you know what? I loved it. I was exhausted and confused, yes, but I was distracted from my darkness.

New York is sometimes called the city that never sleeps. I found this to be the best part. Lights were always on somewhere, people were always up and about, talking, whistling, laughing, arguing. The city was never shrouded in black. It twinkled under the night sky, as far as I could see, in any direction. There were noises, from people, from traffic, from construction sites, from shops, from musicians and advertisements. I was alone, yet, but I was never _alone_.

So I let New York wash over me, occasionally drown me, and hide me, even from myself. I let the people "push" me up and down sidewalks. I blended in, the best I could. And in return, the city kept the light on for me at night.

I was too scared to try a taxi or a train, and I was way too scared to buy any kind of vehicle and drive it for myself in the traffic. So I walked, just like most of the New Yorkers seemed to do. Walter had given me a printed out google map, with my apartment circled. He drew lines in black ink from my address to different places of interest and wrote, underneath them, how many miles from my apartment it was. Liberty Island was 7.2 miles, Grand Central Terminal was 2.6 miles, Central Park was 5.1. I added to the map in red ink, places I found that I knew I was going to have to find.

Only once had I gotten really lost. I had to pull myself into a corner, take out my map and try to decipher what street I was on. I had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk one time before that. I was raged at by three different people in five seconds. I knew to move to the side if I had to stop.

No one gave me a second glance, probably used to seeing visitors with furrowed brows and maps.

I chanced asking a passerby for directions. I let the businessmen and women pass, not wanting to step on their busy schedules. I held my tongue when a family of obvious tourists, walking side by side, blocking the entire length of the sidewalk, all staring straight up at the skyscrapers with matching duck-billed hats and t-shirts that read "I heart NY". They probably were lost, too. A woman, though, caught my eye. She had on a pencil skirt and had a violin case strapped to her back. She looked straight ahead as she walked. She knew where she was going. I stepped out into the flow.

"Excuse me!" A jackhammer was blasting down the street and she didn't hear me.

"Excuse me!" I tried again. She stopped, glanced around her, pulled her purse closer and then stepped into my corner. I could see a light splattering a freckled across her nose and cheekbones. Her eyebrows perked and her chin jutted, waiting for me to explain myself and fast.

"Could you give me directions to High Line Park (1.5)?" I knew how to get home from there.

"Southwest onto west 48th street and then left on 8th avenue. That that until you hit west 23rd." She pointed down the plaza.

"Oh. Okay, thank-"

And she was gone before I could finish "ok". That was another big difference between Aspen and New York. Ask someone for direction in Aspen, and you would probably hear their life story, their dog's life story, given a list of places they love, and by invited to drink if you were likable, interesting, or rich. Here, people were in a hurry and impatient. Her directions were spot on, anyway, and I never left the apartment without my smart phone again.

Today I was at least going to the Jefferson Market Library (.6). And maybe walk through Westbeth(62ft), the artist community, the location of the Martha Graham center of contemporary dance.

Jefferson Market Library was a gothic-looking historic building with red brick, black stone, stain glass windows and even a lookout tower with a clock. The library in Aspen was pretty old looking, but this one beat it hands down. It was much bigger, at least a hundred feet tall, and way more architecturally impressive. In fact, it was beautiful and sort of magical. It gave me a giddy nerd feeling just standing outside, next to the garden, now in full fall colors.

Libraries are usually all a little bit the same. There are books and shelves, desks, chairs and computers. There is a system to find what one needed and librarians who usually seemed to like their job. It was kind of like home away from home. This one was amazing and made me want to eat words like candy. I hadn't simply sat down read a book since college.

Inside was just as lovely as the outside, with a dome to the tower, huge windows, and a big spiral staircase. The main level looked to be the children's section, so I began a trek up the staircase to the second floor. There were plenty of laptop users, but no public computers. I had opted to leave mine at home. No matter how thin, laptops were still a pain to carry around, on foot. So I went down two floors, to the basement. The reference desk was here, was well as the computers and the microfishe.

I didn't know what I was looking for until I started typing. _Norse mythology._ I hesitated before clicking _search_. I thought I had been trying to avoid all this. I definitely did not want to have a panic attack in a public library. But something in me wanted, no, needed to know. I knew this would happen, if I chose to stay on Earth. I would always wonder about Asgard.

The only information I had on Asgard was my lost memory and whatever was available on earth, which happened to by myths.

Myths were tricky, because there could be hundreds of different ideas from hundreds of scholars on just one facet of just one myth. There were wives tales, and superstitions and stories handed down orally. And there was academic literature, trying to decipher what the myth could mean. And historic accounts. And new versions told by different authors. Add to that, myths could be treated as fact or fiction. Like, the Bible, to some is fact, and to others is considered fiction. Or like how Thor and Loki were just myths to most, until a few months ago, when there were literally millions of eyewitnesses.

So even if I could research my family, I would never know the truth. It would just be based off of a bunch of stories. Still, I was curious. And if it started to hurt me too much, I could always tell myself that it was just fiction.

I clicked _search. _

And got a few thousand hits. There were children's books, academic papers, historic documents, and literature, fiction and non fiction. No way was I going to sift through thousands of books, all probably contradicting each other.

I back spaced and typed_ Thor and Loki._ This time I got one million hits. Most were comic books or recent articles on either trying to destroy the earth or save it. That wasn't the direction I wanted.

I huffed, thought for a moment, drumming my fingers lightly over the keyboard.

"I couldn't help but notice...you are researching the Avengers?" I jumped out of my skin. The voice was loud, up close, female, and british. There on my left, a set of dark eyes, long bright red hair, and matching red lips stared me down.

I looked around myself. Why was this chick talking to me?

She turned to my computer, nudging me out of the the way and ignoring my befuddlement. "The Times published an article last week, just on Thor." She clicked on something that changed the layout of the screen. A new search engine. "Which is who you are specifically looking for, am I right?"

I stared.

"Don't judge! I just have great eyesight and a radar for this type of thing," she said before I could get a word in to tell her how rude and creepy it was to spy on someone, and shouldn't she be whispering in the library? "There's loads of academic papers if your cup of tea is dull." Her mouth drew out hte word dull, stretching it thinly.

Her eyes scanned the page for a second. She pulled open the internet browser and said, "There's tabloids, if you want bullshit."

I opened my mouth but got nothing out.

"No? A nerd then." She said gleefully. Her eyes traced me up and down quickly as if to test that theory. "Marvel comics, it is. Worship Stan Lee? Because we have an encyclopedia here of all comics, two editions of Marvel Handbooks and then there's the Marvel wiki online with character bios, but you would already know that, if you were anything like me. So you are doing a paper, then?"

She had completely hijacked my computer and research, clicking titles of books and articles off of different tabs and windows of the computer. "You're older than you look. You study Norse mythology, don't you? Ah-ha, the scholar. Prose Edda and all that? Read it once. My tea is not dull, however, and I did not read it twice. Am I right?"

She talked like she was on drugs, fast and confident. She clicked print and closed out the windows and restored the computer to home page in the time it took for me to open my mouth again.

"SHHH!" An older man in a beanie reading a magazine at a desk gave her quite the look.

"Sod off." She said in an outside voice, causing more people to look over. "I work here."

I was stunned again. She did not look like a librarian. She looked like she worked in the fashion industry. She had on five inch pumps, lacy tights, a short pair of shorts, a pinstripe blazer and earrings that dangled to her shoulders in the shape of thin lightning bolts. She wasn't quiet, like a librarian should be. She was loud in every way shape and form. She moved and talked fast, and apparently felt the need to think out loud as she tried to categorize me.

"Personally, I get off on all of the above. Even the tabloids give me the giggs on a crap day. Follow me."

I hesitated for one second. She disappeared around a line of shelves. I grabbed my bag and gave the old man an apologetic look. I followed her voice to the reference desk.

"I would like to consider myself an expert, although I have never had the chance to actually speak to any of them. I know the Captain lives somewhere around here, but is well hidden. I would give my left ovary to have a cuppa with Loki. I know, I know, sick, right? I am, though. I can't help myself. I just love a good villain. Even my boyfriends are all a bit dodgy."

She slid around the desk and pulled out three pages of titles of books. "Here we are. Fresh off the press." She handed them to me. I looked the titles over for a second, but couldn't concentrate on them. I was caught up in the whirlwind that was this lady. She was noisy, nosy, pushy and kind of funny. And I liked her. I decided that she was worth knowing, at least for today.

I stuck out my hand, "Siri Eisen. Nice to meet you."

"Anouk Rousseau." She took my hand. Her fingernails were long and had aztec-like designs painted across them.

"Thanks for the help." I said.

"Like I said, I have a radar for this type of thing."

"What type of thing is that?"

"Geekry. Anything fantasy or sci fi. Mostly, the Avengers. I have been obsessed since grade school with comics. Mum used to burn them. She thought they were brainwashing me. They probably were. But now that heros are real..." she trailed off, looking over my shoulder. I shifted when she didn't continue, and glanced behind.

A rough looking guy pounded his way down the staircase. If he shaved his scraggly beard and got rid of the tattoo of a symbol that ran from nose to ear, right across his cheekbone, he might have been attractive.

"Pardon me a second." Anouk mumbled, the quietest she had been yet, and then stepped out from around the desk and me. She met the guy half way, folded her arms, blocking his way. They had a whispered conversation in which expletives found their way into earshot and echoed through the hush of the library. I wondered if I should come to her rescue, somehow. But I didn't know what I would do. He was much bigger and scarier. It ended with Anouk poking him the chest. He straightened, flipped up his middle fingers and walked right out again. Anouk, turned around and smiled at me. I forced a smile back. Dodgy boyfriends, indeed.

"What a joke." She laughed. "Find what you're looking for?" She held her hand out for the papers. I scanned them, quickly, trying to get even a hint of what I should start with.

"It would help if you would just tell me what you need the information for. Then I could narrow down the results."

There was no way I was telling her I was just curious about what my own family was like, that my family was right out of Norse mythology, and that Loki was actually my brother and would make her doggy boyfriends look like neutered kittens.

I swallowed. "A paper."

She looked at me, studying. "Fine."She didn't believe me; I could see it. But she was willing to play along. "What is your thesis?"

"My thesis?" I was caught. I didn't have a thesis, because I didn't have a paper.

"Excatly. What is this paper about? What are you trying to say?"

I bit my lip. "I want to know about the family. Of Thor and Loki."

"Alright! We are getting somewhere!" She got loud again, reached over the desk for a pen and began crossing out titles and making notes in the margins. I watched, trying to decipher her messy handwriting.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that reading over shoulders is rude?" She mumbled at me. I blushed. And then thought about how that was exactly what she had done earlier. I backed off, deciding to be grateful for her help and not wanting human contact to end. She stood up, suddenly and headed for the staircase. I followed her.

"How broad can you go?"

"What?"

"Like, are you staying in the Odin, Freya, Thor, Loki generation? Or are you going to back as far as Bur, Bestla, Bor? Do you want to include Vali, Gersemi, Skjoldur? You know the obscure offspring.?"

I jumped at my secret name. "Um...include them. Gersemi, I mean." I said trying to play it cool, like I knew all those other names.

"Interesting. Have you actually read the Prose Edda?"

"No."

She stopped climbing stairs and turned around. "You read the Comics then?"

"No."

She looked way more frustrated than a normal person would as she stood, blocking my way and the way of three others. Suddenly, she brightened.

"You met Thor, while he was here?!"

"No!" my face was heating. How did I manage to find people who like making scenes?

"Why then, in the name of Stan Lee, would you be interested in his genealogy!?" her voice squeaked and echoed. I didn't want to point out that it was none of her business. A woman waiting to move down stairs cleared her throat. "You aren't a nerd, you don't care enough for literature to read Prose Edda, yet you are writing a paper on obscure genealogy of Norse mythology. I don't get you." She made a noise of disbelief and frustration and then crumpled the papers in her hands.

Dang it. I didn't think she would give up on me. She headed up stairs again, moving aside to let people past her.

"Wait!" I whispered. I followed her into the children's section. She ran her fingers over a row of thin picture books and then stopped over one and slipped it out of it's place. An angry looking bearded god with a viking helmet held an axe aloft while riding crazy- looking red-eyed rams, against a blue backdrop. _The Usborne Illustrated Guide to Norse Myths and Legends_. A children's book.

It was perfect. Children were imaginative enough to believe, yet smart enough to discern. Magic would be treated as fact, and it would be dumbed down enough for me to take it as fiction.

"Oh, don't be like that." Anouk said.

I looked up in surprise.

"You would be astounded how much information is in there. And I hardly think you are ready for Prose Edda. Unless...you want the comics."

"No!" I cleared my throat. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"It's what I'm here for." She signed wistfully, looking me up and down, for the fourth time. I wondered why she felt it was so necessary to place me, to know who I was and what I wanted with mythology. I wondered if she did this with everyone she met, categorizing them in her brain based on what they were looking for.

She turned on her heel and made her way back down the stairs. I followed her without consciously deciding to. There was something that drew me to her, and it wasn't her ostentatious outfit or her loud british voice. Maybe my mysterious affinity for the Avengers could keep her interested in me long enough to glean anything she knew about Norse mythology.

I counted on the fact that she liked to talk when I asked, "how did you get your job at the reference desk?"

"Why You looking for a job?"

"No I-"

"Wait!" She held up a hand. "Don't tell me. I am awesome at this. Or usually I can get close. You are a dancers come to Big Apple to find your fifteen minutes of fame in the spotlight."

I wasn't looked for fame but that was scarily close to the truth. "How did-"

"You obviously just moved to the city, that's clear to anyone."

I bristled. I was really trying hard not to look like that.

"It's thursday, mid morning, which is usually when people are at their jobs, even if it is dancing, so you don't have work."

I gaped at her.

"you are wearing dance tights, less prone to runs and tears. I order them online. The extra price is worth the durability. I would recognize them on anyone. Your hair is in a bun, and not just any bun, but one fastened by bobby pins. No fly-aways. That takes practice. You aren't wearing jewelry, you walk like a duck, and your posture is perfect." She enunciated the_ t_ on the end, punctuating her delivery.

I stood in shock. Was I really that readable?

She grinned at me. "Don't worry, I'm just a smart ass." She grinned. "And I still can't figure out why you are here."

She was smart. Like scary smart. How long I could keep the truth from her, were I to become more than just an acquaintance, I did not know. So why was I still here, ogling at her brashness?

"Listen." She leaned over, grabbing a thigh-length trench coat and a mustard yellow leather purse from under the desk. "I have a feeling about you."

"A feeling?"

"I like my feelings. I'm about to go on break. Fancy coffee?"

"Now?"

"Sure." She fluffed her scar and then called out, "Margret. I'm on break."

No one seemed to be Margret and no one protested her leaving.

I weighed my options. Keep following and learn as much as I could, while trying to stay anonymous. Make first friend in New York. Possibly accidentally give away my identity to one bizarre girl , who if given the chance, would side with Loki.

Or walk away. Just like I did before. Stay safe. No friend, no help researching my family.

There was always a coffee shop in sight, it seemed. I let Anouk choose one just a block away. It was small and cute, painted bright blue. Inside was quaint, almost European with lacy curtains dressing the windows, and brass pots hanging on cheery yellow walls, behind the counter. Home back goods sat on display under the glass counter. A few couples sat at tables lining the windows looking out to the street. It wasn't packed, and for the first time while in New York, I didn't have to wait in a line.

It was an overlooked nugget of gold and I instantly loved it. I soon realized why so many chose other coffee shops: no wireless internet. Adding to that was a big red sign with a picture of a cell phone, circled and crossed out, hanging directly above the cashier. No technology allowed. Just plain human interaction. It was refreshing.

I ordered a plain coffee and Anouke got something she called a dirty hippie. We sat down at a table under a framed Matisse painting of a vase filled with goldfish. the coffee was served in plain white porcelain tea cups. Furthering my delight, the sugar poured from a glass shaker and was multi colored, like confetti. Childishly, I decided I wanted to live here.

The extra coffee and sugar, added to a chance of actually having a friend, made me giddy. I wasn't great at making friends; it always felt forced and awkward to me. Something about Anouk made me want to put my guard down, impress her and then slam my guard back into place, all at once. It was like being on a first date. Only, I was pretty sure we were both straight. She chatted away, completely happy to keep up the one-sided conversation, telling me about coming to New York for school and staying. About her itsy-bitsy apartment in Brooklyn. I let her talk, enjoying the company. She told me "rules" about New York, so I wouldn't look like a "newb". Some of them I knew from experience, like the not stopping on the sidewalk, but some I didn't, like moving over after you pay to put your change or card or receipt away, out of the way of the next person ordering. She asked me, politely, about where I lived and where I came from. And then she, not so politely asked me again why I was researching Thor.

I decided, on a whim, that I was going to ask her what I wanted, and hope that I had overestimated her curiosity and powers of observation.

"Have you heard of Amora?"

She blinked, thrown off by the change of direction.

"In Norse mythology, I mean." I added. She looked interested then.

"The Enchantress?"

"Sure..."I wasn't sure my mother was that.

"Not in myths, that I have found. She's a comic book character. Marvelverse."

"Oh."

"She wears busty green dresses and traipses about seducing anything with magic or power."

"Oh." I said again. That half sounded like my mom. I didn't know about any green dresses, though.

"Is she..." I swallowed, "is she a villiain?"

"Not really. Officially, she is neutral, but she has sided with Loki. She is definitely anti Avengers, if that's what you mean."

"I do." I muttered. And then I did somehting stupid. "Did she ever kidnap anyone?"

"Like who?"

"Any of..." I took a breath and a chance. "Of Thor's family?"

"Ah-HA!" She hit her palms on the table, making it jump and the china rattle. "I knew you'd come around!" She sat back smugly. I gulped. What did she know? I was so stupid to try to get information out of her without her getting any out of me. She was obviously way smarter than me. And now she might know things she shouldn't. Things that could get her into trouble or killed. And I had no idea what she would do with the information.

"Come around where?" asked a voice. We both looked up to see a man in a suit, holding a cup of coffee. "Hello. May I join you?" Coulson didn't wait for permission, he pulled out a chair from the table next to us and sat down at the end of ours. He grinned, stupidly.

Fucking S.H.I.E.L.D. Trust them the find me the moment I opened my fat mouth up about secret things.

* * *

**Hi all! I hope you are well and happy! Thank you for your follows and favorites! I know this is a tiny bit of a filler chapter, but it needed to happen. I apologize if any real information on New York or the Marvelverse doesn't quite line up with this story. I don't actually live in New York, so I am doing the best I can. Let me know what you think!**

**-Coy**


	3. On Your Side

**In the Middle Somewhat Elevated**

**Chapter Three: On Your Side**

* * *

Coulson invited himself to sit, looking back and forth between us innocently, as if he had been expected. Anouk's face was a mixture of irritation, surprise and wariness. I felt at first a cold sensation; fear. I had disobeyed Fury's orders to keep my mouth shut and an agent had been sent to take me away.

The cold fear heated quickly as I began to panic. I could not go back to being a prisoner. I simply couldn't. I looked around for an escape, knowing it was hopeless. Both Anouk and I were going to be nabbed and then held as prisoners of SHIELD. All because I couldn't keep secrets. My toes curled in my shoes. Could I out run him?

There was a deathly silence over our table. A traffic seemed to get louder on the other side of the windows. I noticed, for the first time, there was music playing in the cafe. Old timey jazz. Billie Holiday, maybe.

Coulson just sat there, cherrily sipping on his foamy coffee, enjoying himself.

"Who the hell are you?" Anouk snapped the tension like a rubber band.

"Phil Coulson. A friend of Siri. I don't believe we have met." Coulson stuck out his hand. Anouk looked at me, eyebrows high.

I did what I did best in a sticky situation: I froze.

"This is your friend?" she pointed at him, still looking me.

"Uh..." I was at a loss. I shook my head no, tiny, quick movements meant to assure the table I was not responsible for what ever happened next.

Coulson gave me a mock-hurt look. "B.F.F.s for life." He told Anouk, winking.

It would have been funny if it weren't so awkward.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered at him, furiously, finally breathing out.

"Hold on," Anouk held up a hand, demanding my attention. "Do you know this sod or not?"

"Yes." I admitted, reaching for my purse, on the ground between my feet, without revealing that I was ready to bolt. How I was going to save Anouk, I had no idea. I probably couldn't.

Anouk breathed a sigh of relief, pulling her other hand out of her purse. I suspect, dropping a can of mace. Good girl.

Coulson eyed Anouk with humor. I'm glad he was at least amused. "I should be asking you that, Siri. What are you doing here?" His expression was friendly, but I could see something in his eyes. A warning.

"I'm just...having coffee. With Anouk. She works at the library. And I am almost done so..." I sounded panicky. I couldn't reach my purse with my hands, so I tried picking it up with my feet. A weight pushed my feet and my purse back to the floor. Coulson's foot.

"Associate Director for Collection and Resource Services, Anouk Rousseau." she added. Her brows were furrowed, watching me react to Coulson, confused and a bit concerned.

"I see. Pleasure to meet you." He probably already knew everything about her, I thought, with a shiver.

"And what do you do?" she asked. "Hold up." She interrupted him. "Architecture? Politics. Or security."

His eyebrow perked.

"It's the suit." She explained. "And the bluetooth ear piece. That's not allowed in here, you know."

He smiled at her, and then plucked it out of his ear and set it on the table.

Nasty.

"I work for Strategic Homland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics."

I am almost positive he didn't know about her extensive knowledge of anything to do with the Avengers. He was probably countng on the fact that the title was long and legitimate sounding. He was trying to be ironic.

"Is that so? Are you sure you don't work for Strategic _Hazard_ Intervention _Espionage_ Logistics _Directorate_?" she said smugly, catching him in what she thought was a lie.

He choked on his coffee. I focused on the patterns cast on the table cloth by sunlight streaming through the lacy window coverings. Shit was going down, and Anouk was going to make it worse.

"Or what about Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division?"

"Who are you?" His cheery attitude out the window. His face was serious.

She laughed, oblivious to the danger I had put her in. "Anouk. Nerd. Yes, that's right. You heard me. I know the other acronyms. I don't care who knows it." She raised her voice, so other patrons heard her.

Coulson sat back in his chair, deliberating. I didn't know what to say.

"You read comics, I take it?" She asked, eying the two of us again, feeling the renewed tension.

"Comics." he repeated the word, as if it put everything back into perspective. He had to believe she was just a nerd and that I didn't tell her everything.

"Paper books with pictures in them." Anouk joked weakly.

"Yes," he said finally, deciding. "Yes, I am a big fan of Captain America." And just like that, he was back. He sipped his coffee, smiling that stupid smug Coulson smile.

"Oh! Old school! Fantastic. And even better, now that he's real, am I right?" Anouk was genuinly excited.

"Well, he's always been real," Coulson said, philosophically.

"Not to me. Wait...don't you dare tell me you've met him."

"I have. Though I doubt he knows I exist." He gave me another look. I felt a jolt of the fear I had forgotten.

"Gah!" Anouk leaned her head back and kind of growled. " I was out of town for the wedding during the invasion. Worst. Luck. Ever."

I begged to differ.

"A wedding? So you are married then?"

"No! God no! My sister. London."

"I have always wanted to visit London."

"Ew! Why!?"

He laughed. "I thought you brits were supposed to be patriotic."

"There's a difference between _God save the Queen_ and actually living where it rains so much you forget what it's like to be warm and dry."

"Ah."

They laughed. Who would have known Coulson was such a lady's man? I felt pressure lift. I didn't think we were in danger while he was busy flirting.

"I'm going to-" I started to make an excuse to leave.

"Oh Siri, before I forget, I have something for you." I froze. He reached into his jacket and brought out a blank envelope. I took it warily. I wasn't sure if I was off the hook for talking about classified information or not.

"What is it?"

"A memorandum. Printed out, because you haven't responded to my emails."

It was true. I had been ignoring those. I thought about throwing this copy away. I would wait until he was out of sight. I didn't owe SHILED anything. They were the ones to imprison me without any rights. I had thought their base was in the sky on the helicarrier, constantly moving around. I had hoped they wouldn't be in New York. And I hoped that if they were the city would be big enough to hide me.

I was wrong to hope, apparently.

"Well, I have to get back. Margret will be wondering." Anouk said, standing.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rousseau."

"Anouk, please. It was nice to meet you too, _Agent_ Coulson." She winked.

"Phil. Maybe I will see you around. We could get a drink sometime."

"Maybe." She echoed. "Bye Siri. Don't bring that book back late." She brought her cup and saucer to the counter and put a dollar in the tip jar. Coulson's eyes followed her out the door. I felt a weight lift. She was safe.

"What book?" he asked, when she was out of sight.

I just looked at him. Now that Anouk was free, how was I going to escape?

"I could just find out. Public records at the touch of my finger." He waved his cell phone.

"Those aren't allowed in here." I pointed to the sign.

He sighed. "We aren't the bad guys."

A twinge of guilt pinched me. As far as SHIELD went, Coulson was the least annoying. "I know. Sorry. " I mumbled.

"We just want to help you."

I laughed something in between a snort and a bark. "Shield is a manipulative, lying, nosy fan-boy who has too much technology and weaponry for his own good."

I instantly wished I could take it back. His face didn't react, but I knew he was hurt.

"I'm sorry. Again. God. Coulson, I like you. I do. You are one of the better ones. Just...I want to be left alone. I am sorry I said that." My fingers felt numb and my heartbeat was in my throat, embarrassed I was so mean.

"Everyone needs our help. Even if they don't want it. Without SHIELD, the world would be burnt a hundred times over."

I was sure he was right. But that didn't mean I had to like them. Or see Director Fury's face again. I picked up the envelope from the glass tabletop, where I had set it. A brown coffee mark stained one corner, still soggy.

"What's in it?" I waggled the letter.

"Secrets. Do you, by the way, know what those are?"

I blushed and began to open the letter right there, showing him I was going to be civil to him, at least.

* * *

MEMORANDUM

To: Siri Eisen

From: Agent Coulson

Subject: Assembleage

Director Fury requests your presence at your earliest convince. Contact Agent Coulson to arrange an assemblage to be held at 200 Park Avenue. Thank you for your cooperation.

* * *

I laughed. It was tiny little thing. Something between an invitation and a threat.

"So?"

"So what?"

"What do you say?"

"No." It was like being called into see the headmaster. It was manipulative and stupid. If Director Fury wanted to talk, he knew exactly where to find me, I was sure.

"No, you wont meet with Director Fury?"

"I want to be left alone."

"That's not going to happen. Whether you like it or not, you are still apart of this world. Just come in for one day."

"No."

"Tomorrow sounds good."

"I have an audition tomorrow." I was glad for the legitimate excuse.

My audition was scheduled at the Parson Dance Company (2.3) the next day. I had researched companies to audition for off of a handy website I had found. My connections with Aspen Santa Fe Ballet helped get me more audition opportunities than some. I was hoping to get a job with a contemporary, modern or ballet company, right where good dancers are a dime a dozen.

Peridance and Dance new Amsterdam looked promising, as did Parson. Alvin Ailey was out; I was the whitest girl around. New York Ballet and American Ballet Theater were daunting, although I promised myself I would audition at least once, when my ankle and knee were fully healed. I would probably not get in, and if I did, I would have to start in the corps stand in the back. There were musical theater auditions all over the place, but I wasn't confident in my singing voice. I had planned to take it one audition at it one audition at a time, and not get too worried or worked up about it.

"After your audition then. It wont take more than an hour. If you still hate us, we will leave you alone."

That sounded too good to be true.

"Promise?"

"No. But I will do my best to keep you off of SHIELD's radar as much as I can."

I hesitated.

"It's the least you can do. My feelings were hurt." He smirked.

"Fine." I huffed.

"Actually, there's one more thing."

I knew it.

"Give me Anouk's number."

I laughed, relieved that I had gotten out of too much trouble. And after one hour tomorrow, I would be free of SHIELD.

"I don't have it."

"Doesn't matter. I can get it." He waved his cell again and then downed the rest of his coffee.

"That's what I am taking about! You guys meddle too much. You shouldn't have access to personal phone numbers."

"Why not?"

"Well…because…who knows what you'll do with it."

"I was planning on asking her for a date."

"Unprofessional!"

"I agree. But convenient."

"And you are not her type."

"What? How?"

"She only dates scraggly, mean, tattooed bikers."

"I have a tattoo."

"You do?" I was floored.

"Not that I can trust you with secrets."

* * *

My legs were tired when I got home, and the strap of my purse was digging into my shoulder. The weather had turned from warm, breezy to sharp gusty and cloudy. Leaves kicked up in the wind beautifully as I climbed the short set of stairs that led up to my front door. I shivered in another gust and hoped that it wouldn't rain. Or at least if it did rain, that the storm would be over by the time I had to walk to my audition tomorrow morning. I was not one for bad weather. I liked the sunshine, the warmth, the brightness of a nice day. The cold just depressed me further. The best part of winter was skiiing, in Aspen. But I had given that up when I realized I was just spending most of my time in the lodges drinking hot chocolate. I knew New York got cold in the winter, being so far north, and I had packed all of my winter clothes and boots. Still, I thought I would have at least a month of autumn before I had to deal with stiff joints and limbs.

It had been warm enough, this morning, for just a sweater and jeans. But my last hour walking had been a little chilly. I was happy to reach my home and the warmth it promised. I dug my hands into my purse, searching for my keys. I searched every pocket, and when they did not turn up, I crouched and began emptying the contents of my purse on my door mat. I patted down my pockets, knowing it was hopeless. I had lost my keys. I didn't keep a spare.

Think, Siri, think.

I was going to have to break in, somehow. The windows on ground level were locked, I knew that for sure. Being alone, I took all the precautions to stay safe. My balcony door was unlocked, but I wasn't exactly Spiderman.

"Hello, Siri."

Steve stood, hands in his pockets, on the sidewalk. He gave me a tight-lip smile.

"Steve." My heart gave a little jump, betraying a ghost of a feeling. A ghost that I had kept around, willingly, and embarrassingly. It was very clear that we were only friends, that it would always be that way. His reacting to me trying to move out of the friend zone, when we had woken up in the hotel together, told me that I was not going get past friend zone.

I knew I wasn't his type, just as Coulson wasn't Anouk's. His type was a beautiful, curvy, independent, strong woman, probably brunette. Someone that belonged to the world he missed. Someone who would cook him pork roast and do his dishes, waiting for marriage to have sex. Someone who used words like 'shoot' and 'darn.'

I was the opposite. Cowardly, blonde bean pole, seventy years younger, with a sharp tongue. But this knowledge didn't keep me from day dreaming a bit.

He had been so kind to me when I was on the helicarrier, even when, frankly, I was a bitch. He had stayed with me, making sure I was ok. He had carried me when I couldn't walk. And there was a the fact that he was a super hero, a gentleman, and just plain good. Not to mention his blue eyes and perfect jaw. And of course no girl in her right mind wouldn't notice his triceps.

Here he was, on my doorstep. And it was almost too much for me. He was real and really here. It was Aspen all over again. I hadn't been exactly nice to him, in Aspen, yelling at him in the courtyard. That guilt hung over me, too.

"I hope I am not coming at a bad time. I just heard you moved."

"Oh. No, it's fine. I just..." I looked down at the contents of my purse strewn at my feet. "I lost my keys."

He climbed the stairs, taking in my folded map, my bottle of pills, pens, wallet, arnica, sunglasses and receipts, my phone draped in some ear-buds tangled with a necklace. I bent, again, scooping everything up as fast as I could, back into my bag.

"You don't have a spare?"

I cringed, knowing I should. I felt so young, immature. Silly.

He stood back, and looked up the side of the building.

"Is that one yours?" He pointed to my balcony.

"Yeah. It's unlocked. I'm pretty sure."

Steve gave the street a scan and then shrugged out of his jacket. I felt my eyes widen as he handed me the leather jacket. His face was serious, taking this task as if it were a mission to save the world. He was always so serious, hardly ever smiling. And when he did, it was with hesitation, for someone's benefit, and guarded, never quite reaching his eyes.

I guess he didn't have a whole lot to smile about. It made me feel oddly guilty, like it was my job to cheer him up.

He climbed the tree, rustling branches, bringing down a golden shower of leaves, and then basically rock-climbed up the side of my building, using bricks and window sills. It made my heart pound even though I knew he would make it, and that even if he didn't, he would be fine no matter how far he fell. I held my breath as he launched himself from the window sill below, to the balcony above him, swinging for a second and then pulling/pushing himself up with his arms in a quick burst that got him to a standing position on the outside of my railing.

I checked the street, wondering if anyone had seen him monkey his way into my apartment. The street was busy, as usual. Too busy to notice anything. Steve disappeared and then reappeared a moment later as he open my front door.

Another gust of cold wind pick my hair up and gave me goosebumps.

"I, uh. Thank you, Steve." I understood why I felt awkward around him, but I didn't like it. I just had to get used to the friend zone.

"Anytime." That small, polite smile.

I brushed my way past him, into the tight foyer that also acted as the landing for more stairs. We side stepped around each other as I hung his jacket on my coat rack. The heat of inside was almost too much for me, after the cold winds, outside.

"I don't have to stay. I was in the area-"

"Stay!" I blushed, hoping to God that I didn't sound desperate. "I mean, if you want. I have coffee. Tea. Hot chocolate." I added, half-joking.

He hesitated. "Hot chocolate?"

"With marshmallows."

He signaled that I should lead the way. I climbed the stairs, a little self-consciously.

My apartment was luxurious. It was a little embarrassing, to tell the truth. Probably because I hadn't earned any of it. Also, the previous owner had a very different taste in decoration, than I did. The walls were a bright lavender color, with giant black decals of flowers, on some of the walls. All her furniture was plush and black, as well. There were bronze-colored floor lamps, cream, almost velvet-like, drapes, and a about a hundred wine glasses in a case, on display.

Two pieces fought for attention in the middle of the open space: a long, fluffy and eye-popping zebra print rug that ran under the living room area, and a low-hanging and extremely sparkly chandelier that practically glowed even before it was turned on. These two gaudy pieces sandwiched the living room area and were visible from the kitchen, my bed, and the office space, which was pretty much the whole apartment. I hated the zebra rug and the chandelier, and I wasn't a huge fan of purple. Unfortunately, the living area was the center of the loft, with the kichten against one wall, my bed area against another with a tiny office space, a bathroom/laundry room tucked away. I had thought about trying to re decorate, but I didn't know the first thing about tearing up carpets or taking apart lighting or even painting walls. Every time I decided I was going to IKEA, I got too tired just thinking about it all, and ended up just going out for a walk or to a coffee shop.

Dishes were piled in the sink. My bed was unmade, on one side of the loft, and boxes of things I had yet to unpack were stacked next to it. Clothing spilled out of the cupboard-like closet. It was a great organization tool, with a glass case that was made for displaying shoes. I just didn't have a bunch of beautiful clothing and heels to put in there. I felt silly hanging jeans, and folding leotards and tights. Right about now, as Steve came up the stairs, behind me, I wished I had taken the last couple of weeks to actually move in.

"Sorry about the mess. I, uh, just haven't...I wasn't expecting company."

"No. It's...nice."

I laughed.

"It's purple."

"I know." I made a face.

"And this is..." he bent and gingerly touched my zebra carpet.

"Hideous."

"I was going to say 'scary'." He smiled, a little warmer, now.

I moved into the kitchen, filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove. I washed out two mugs and found the hot chocolate mix and marshmallows.

Steve sat down on one black cushy chair, positioned next to a cream colored side table, and picked up a giant decorative bronze bowl that took up the entire surface of the small table. He looked so out of place. Like he was worried he was going to turn purple if he sat there too long.

"So..." I started, stepping on the zebra to sit across from Steve, on a couch that practically ate me, it was so fluffy.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"A couple of weeks."

He nodded.

"And you are well?"

"Yep." I answered automatically, probably a little too quickly and too loudly.

He looked at me.

"I like New York. The city. I have an audition tomorrow." I blurted out.

"Dance?"

"Yep." I said again.

There was a quietness. I wondered what he was doing here. Don't get me wrong. I liked it. But I didn't know what to do with myself. As the silence grew, I became more and more uncomfortable. Steve looked like he was fine with silence. He was distracted, staring out the window at the grey sky. I fidgeted, trying to find the right words, the right thing to say. After what seemed like an eternity, the kettle began whistling. I jumped up to make our drinks, grateful for something to do.

"Siri,"

My back was to him. "Hmmm?"

"I don't know how to put this. I feel..." he stopped. A weird shock zapped my chest. "I feel somewhat responsible for you."

I stirred in powder in the mug, not daring to meet his eyes. Again, I was at a loss for words.

"I mean. With your leg and even on the hellicarier...I feel like you need...I was going to offer to..." he stopped again. I turned around. He was still looking out the window.

"Steve."

He looked at me.

"You don't owe me anything. The leg's great." I picked it up a bit to show him.

"But you said-"

"It's great." I repeated.

"It's more than that. Your leg. I just want you to know that I am around. For anything. If you need...anything."

My heart squeezed. This wasn't fair. I was more than stuck in the friend zone. I was stuck in the little sister zone. There was no hope, now. I swallowed, thickly.

"Thank you. It means a lot."

"I'm on your side."

"I know." He was too good. I brought the two mugs to the living area.

"And, if you need a ride...anywhere. I have a bike." He took the drink.

I looked at him, a bit suspiciously.

"Like where?"

He shrugged, not meeting my eyes anymore. "Your audition."

"Or 200 Park Avenue?"

He didn't answer.

"How did you know where I live?" I asked, suddenly.

"Well, SHIELD has-"

"I knew it!" I yelled, annoyed. He looked up quickly, startled.

"You are here to spy on me for SHILED."

"No! Not spy."

I sipped my drink, not really mad at him. Just annoyed that SHILED had it's grip on him, too.

"You are going, tomorrow, though right?" He asked in a small voice.

I scowled.

"Siri, it will be good for you. You need to know how to defend yourself, living here alone. And the trouble with Amora and-"

"Wait. What?"

"If anything goes wrong, you could use the scepter, if you knew more about it-"

"What do you mean defend myself?"

"Director Fury was going to talk to you about some training."

"He wants to train me? To do what? Roll over? Play dead? Like Coulson?" I really did dislike Fury. And I couldn't seem to escape SHIELD today.

Steve sighed. "He had a point. Ignorance isn't going to hide you. Your mother is still an Enchantress, no matter how far away she is."

"So?"

"So what if something goes wrong? What if she decides to try to hurt Odin again?"

That stopped me. My heart dummed a beat on my sternum.

"She won't." I whispered, tears making the world shake.

"You don't know that. Please, Siri. I can't protect you all the time. Not from yourself. Don't let pride get in the way of your safety."

"I am safe. Here."

"No, you aren't."

* * *

**Hello hello! It's been a crazy time for me, so sorry for the delay. :)**

** I would like to give a shout out to MustangLover97, DitzyBrunette89, mischief in the magic, 344, Toni, Imaginary Owls, Sakuya06, Ryn of Magic, Piezzelle, babyhilts, Dark Moons and Whispered Words, total-animal-lover, OWLSCRATCH, BunnyMay, and GetLostInTheMusic. You guys are amazing and so encouraging. Thank you for reading and reviewing Siri's story. I love hearing from you all. **

**Thank you for taking the time to read, and as always, comments and criticism is always welcome. **

**Until next time,**

**Coy**


	4. Let's Make Dance

**In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated**

**Let's Make Dance**

I made sure to set my alarm for an early enough time to prepare for my audition. It wasn't hard getting out of bed, despite the fact that I hadn't slept well. Rain splattered at my windows streaking the colored lights of the city that assured me the City was awake and ready for today. Something hard and pointy poked me as I sat up. It was the book Anouk gave me. I had fallen asleep reading. I set the myths aside, put the coffee on and scrambled an egg. It was the breakfast I had before every audition. Disregarding the fact that I had neighbors, I turned my music on. Music was key. It was what was going to keep me sane before, during and after my audition.

After I had eaten what I could and poured myself another cup of coffee, I moved over to the corner of my apartment reserved for dance. There was a make-shift barre, two tall mirrors glued to the wall, side by side. a yoga matt, tennis balls, a foam roller, elastic bands, and all the dance shoes I owned in a heaping pile in a wicker basket. Ribbons and laces and canvas spilled over the side.

Ballet is a ritual. There is an order to the class and the act of dancing. There were rules. There was a time and place for every part, and done exactly right the warm ups will wake up, stretch and strengthen the muscles needed to dance, to fly. I rolled my stiff soles of my feet on a tennis ball, one at a time, massaging them into obedience. I went through a series of calisthenics, Pilates, and yoga until I was warm enough to stand at the barre. In wool socks, shorts and a sweatshirt I stood, right hand lightly on the barre, just resting in front of me.

In first position, my heels touching I took a moment to find my alighnment: feet, knees, pelvis, spine, ribs, shoulders, neck, head. I felt the imaginary string pull taut my body, lifting me practically off the ground all the while I imagined my feet as tree roots, digging thought the hard wood floor, fixed in place, strong and supporting.

I breathed. This was my haven. This is where I thought only of the moment, finding my muscles, greeting them, commanding them. I moved through my barre exercises and was sweating by the second set of _tendus_, right on track. It was meditation, worship, a trance. It hurst at first, my body felt eighty years old until it remembered that this was its purpose. When I was sure I was ready, I switched my music to my two minute audition variation from Swan Lake. I marked through the dance three times and then did it full out, albeit without pointe shoes and in a limited amount of space.

Next was a shower, hot enough to keep my muscles warm, but not so hot as to make me sleepy. I knew exactly what I was wearing: my lucky dark green leo, the one that brought focus to my eyes and flattered my frame perfectly. Tights of course, the newest ones. Small earrings that wouldn't distract from my dancing but would catching the light and the eyes of who ever was watching, helping me to stand out from the other girls. I wore my lucky lip stick, and pulled my long hair back into a bun. Over my audition clothes I wore wool warm ups, a sweater, warm socks and tucked it all into my boots.

In my dance bag I packed two pair of pointe shoes, canvas ballet slippers, extra hair ties and bobby pins, a tennis ball, an elastic, my map.

There was just one more thing I had to do before the audition. I pulled out my phone. In contacts I found my mom and pressed send, giving myself no time to think about it or mentally prepare before she picked up.

"Siri?"

"Hi Mom." I breathed as cheerily as I could.

"What's happened? I can get on a plane as soon as-"

"Mom! I'm fine. Every thing's fine. I have an audition."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. I felt my jaw pop when I clenched my teeth in annoyance. "That's great," she continued, her words small and thin. I couldn't understand why she just couldn't be happy for me here. Or at least pretend to.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"N-nothing. Just miss you is all."

"Miss you too."

"You do? Oh honey, guess what? It snowed. Can you believe it? It's only September." And just like that she was back.

"That's early."

"Before Halloween. It always snows on Halloween. Remember that one year I had you in that cute little coyboy get up. You were Doc Holiday. Remember?"

"Yeah. Hey, I've gotta-"

"Chloe and Bobo died."

"Who?"

"The buff chickens. Grandma's. She called this morning. The magpies were picking at them in the yard. They froze to death. Left out of the coop all night long."

"That's sad." I didn't have the patience for this today.

"It's horrible. The magpies wouldn't leave them alone." Her voice shook and I could hear in it the places she was cracking. My vision swam and my face got hot.

"Mom, I have to go."

"Oh yes. Your audition." She cleared her voice. "Did you bring that green leo?"

"I'm wearing it." This was what I calling for. This was my mother. The part I wanted.

"And your ankle?"

"Warmed up."

"Remember there are hundreds of places you can audition. You don't have to accept the first offer that comes along."

"Okay." I half agreed.

"And don't push too hard. Not yet."

"Right."

"And make sure you meet the Artistic Director before you sign anything."

"I will."

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"Eggs."

"Don't use the subway. It's full of criminals and pick pockets. Are you taking a cab?"

"I'm walking." I smiled.

"Promise me you wont take the subway."

"Promise. Okay, love you Mom. Gotta go."

"Wait!"

"I'm going to be late!"

"Walter says hi."

"Hi, Walter. Okay, bye."

"He wants to talk, real quick."

"I can't!"

"But the the phone was already changing hands.

"Siri?"

"Hi Walter. Look, I'm running late."

"Call me then. Later."

I sighed.

"From your meeting." His voice dropped to barely audible.

"What?"

"Yeah, just try flipping the breaker." He said loudly.

"What?"

"Okay, Siri. Good hearing from you. Good luck today. Bye."

And he hung up, leaving me drowing in subtext. I stood for a moment, lost. They call from my mother was supposed to geive me a little luck. Confidence. Instead it made everthing off kilter and muddled. My mom sounded worse than whenI had left her. She seemed distreacted, confused and scared. And then Walter. He scared me. How did he know about the meeting?

Shake it off, I told myself. Don't think about it. Don't worry about it. There is nothing you can do, thousands of miles away. I turned my music up, something feel-good and upbeat, and began my walk to the studio. It was a cold day, and the clouds hung low from yesterday, but it wasn't raining. Yet. I knew I dressed warmly enough when I had to pull my hat off a few blocks away, to keep from spontaneously combusting. I put my mind to the audition, talking myself up, visualizing my variation and generally enjoying the crisp air. My excitement began to build. Dance was exactly what I needed.

The studio was down town, a thirty-minute walk. The door was unlocked, but nobody was in sight. I felt a thrill of fear that I had missed the whole thing. My impression had been that there would be dancers lined up around the block. The lobby was empty, too. I turned off my music and began to pull out my map, thinking I had the wrong address or building. A side door burst open and a tall, beautiful, tall man in cutoff sweats and a tee shirt strode gracefully into the lobby. He was barefoot leading me to the assumption that he was a dancer. He stopped short when he noticed me, his dark eyes matching his cropped hair. Then he smiled, a perfect white toothy smile.

"You are here to audition."

"Uh, yes."

"Excellent. We thought no one would show today."

That didn't sound promising.

I followed him down a hallway and into a dance studio, brightly lit with a light grey floor, mirrors, and wall of photographs in black and white, of productions shots. A few empty chairs sat in front of the mirrors. The majority of the people were sprawled on the floor, stretching. Some were simply lying on their backs with their eyes closed; some were moving from the floor to standing and then sliding back down to the floor. I began to understand my mistake.

"Matty!" A girl who look to be about my age, in a dark blue sweat shirt and tiny black shorts pranced over and did not give me a second glance. She was not beautiful, but there was something in the way she moved that made her pretty.

"Hi, Peanut." The tall man beside me gave her the same smile and then walked to the corner of the room where the sound system was hooked up. I didn't know whether or not to follow him, to leave right then and there or to just stay and see this through. I stood uncertainly and "Peanut' ignored me prancing, again, to the group of dancers on the floor.

A song played over the speakers. A husky voice with guitar and punctuated harmonies spilled out over us. This was not ballet. I didn't do my research before this. I had no idea about the company. I had embarrassingly brought a classical variation to a modern dance company and they were all going to point and laugh and tell me I was full of cheap shit tricks. I had two options: run or dance.

I stood for a second, ignoring the looks I was getting, and then decided that I had come all the way here, I might as well dance. I took modern/contemporary in college and liked it. It just wasn't my strong point. I found a corner, finally moving from my spot, and dumped my dance bag and jacket. I kicked off my shoes. It was like a free class, I told myself. Just have fun.

I pulled a pair of shorts on over my rolled up tights and leo and went barefoot. I moved in fake confidence to the front of the studio to stand at the left side, close to the mirror. It was a habit of mine to stand in the front of dance classes. It insured me space to move and kept me from getting distracted by other dancers. I bent at the waist, re-stretching my hamstrings. I was still pretty warm from my barre and the walk here, which was nice. I hung upside down, sneaking glances at the other dancers from between my legs. Most looked older than me, and shorter.

But then again, what's new about that?

The music swelled to very loud and 'Matty' strode purposefully to the center of the floor. He didn't say a word as he sat down on the floor. The class immediately followed suit, stopping their chatter and spreading out to where they wouldn't hit one another. I sat down, too. Matty rolled through his back until he was flat, lying on the floor, arms and leg spread in a giant X. He silently took us through a warm up of the neck, and core, where we rolled and streched like lazy cats on the ground.

What strikes me as the main difference between modern dance and ballet is floor work. In ballet the dancer is elevated, always pushing the floor away, reaching to heaven. In modern, the dance is connected like an umbillical cord, to the ground. While the modern dancing is not always literally on the floor, there is an earthy, low quality that is hard to define, whereas ballet has an ethereal, elevated feeling.

It felt silly sometimes, as a ballerina, to do floor work, and I always ended up with bruises on my bone-y parts. But sometimes it was really liberating. I felt kind of like a ninja, when I got modern or contemporary dance right. It was kind of hard to follow along in the class, because Matty was quiet, never calling out or giving corrections. We all just had to pick up on what he was doing and listen to the music.

That was another major difference. Ballet has a language, mostly in french. Every step and direction has a name. In theory, a dancer could be told _pas de bourre, develope ecarte_, and know pretty much what to do. There was never a time in ballet, in class, rehearsal or performance, where the dance isn't named. We are told exactly what the combination of moves will be and then we do it. In modern, individual artistry is valued. If you aren't taking a specific modern technique, for example Jose Limon or Martha Graham, then 'modern' can mean almost anything. You never know what you're gonna get.

Within twenty minutes I was thoroughly enjoying myself. It felt amazing to move like this, practically painless (another difference: ballet is always painful). I understood why people stuck with modern dance. The other dancers ignored me, but there wasn't a lot of talking going on, anyway. Everyone was focused on what we were doing. Matty watched me often and smiled whenever there was eye contact. I began to get the feeling that I could maybe, just maybe, I could do this instead of ballet. After about an hour and a half, Matty stopped the music. Still, no one talked.

"Okay." he turned to the class. "Let's make dance."

He actually used words, this time, to show us choreography, but they were words like "scooty-puff junior" and "swipey hoo ha". There were whistles and clapping to denote moves. I had to stop myself from laughing. When he had shown us the dance, we marked through the whole thing, together, with music, and then he spit us in the groups of three. Each trio performed the choreography while the others watched.

I waited, nervously, next the the two guys I'd been paired with, watching and taking mental notes. The girl Matty called 'Peanut' was amazing. Her extensions were beautiful. But one look at her face told me she knew just how good she was. When it was my turn I fought hard to turn off my nerves. I stood with the guys on either side of me. The music started and all else slipped away.

The only comparison to loosing myself in dance was holding the scepter. It was comforting and terrifying all at once. I was in control and I was flying.

When the class was over I sat down to stretch, again, feeling fuller and happier than I had in a long time. Matty joined me on the floor and gave me a brilliant smile.

"How'd you do?" he asked.

I was taken aback by the question.

"Good?" I ventured.

He smiled.

"Class was great." I added.

"Thank you. Where are you from?"

"Colorado."

"Just move here?"

"Yes."

"Siri." He said and then took a deep breath. He wiped the sweat from his forhead, looking over my shoulder into the mirror.

I waited. Would I accept a spot here? Put ballet on the back burner?"

"You have got to warm up."

I was confused. I was definitely warmed up. I felt my face flushing. Just like that, the happiness was gone.

"Your soul is like an ice block. There is no life in your eyes." He ran a hand over the front of his face, like a mask.

My rib caged imploded and pinched my heart and all the air out. I kept my face impassive by biting the insides of my cheeks.

"That is exactly what I am talking about." He scooted forward. "That look you have. It's a barrier. A mask. I want to see _you, _when you dance."

_I will not cry. I will not cry. _

"I see." I managed. I did not see.

"And your look...it's a little 80's ballerina on cocaine. Very thin. My dancers are healthy. This isn't Russia. Put on some weight, thaw out, do some soul searching. Is this what you really want to do?" He patted me on the shoulder. "But thank you for joining us today." He gave me that same robotic smile. Too perfect and mean.

"Thank you." I choked out from somewhere in my throat.

_I will not cry. Scratch that. I will not have a panic attack._

I moved stiffly to my bag, pulled on my pants over my shorts and slipped my arms into my jacket, not bothering to zip it up. I did not look at the other dancers as I vacated the studio and then the building. A wall of chill air knocked the wind back into me and I took a long dragging breath.

I kind of felt like rope was wrapped around my torso, tightening, squeezing.

_Calm down. It's fine. I'm fine. Rejection. It's just rejection. _

I had to get out of there. I started walking away from the building, quickly blending into the perpetual crowd that was New York. I refused to let myself cry. It seemed like a way of admitting that I was weak. I wanted to be strong, this time. I could handle it.

_Pull on your big girl panties. Everyone is rejected. What did you expect? Instant fame? You didn't even really want to get into that company. Ballet, remember?_

I took another deep breath. Anger then replaced the wound, filling it in with heat. The rope uncoiled from my chest How dare that jackass say I look like a cracked-out 80's ballerina? Images of twig like legs no wider than pointe shoes filled my mind.

"Fuck you." I said out loud. And then repeated it in my mind. Somehow it made me feel a little better.

I was walking fast and in an unknown direction. If I didn't slow down and thin,k I would get lost. I made myself look around. There was a coffee shop on the corner of this block. My bag knocked into the back of someone's legs as I maneuvered out of the flow of traffic. An older man held the glass door for me and the sweet smell of pastries and caffeine washed over me. I felt my heartbeat settle as I got in line.

_I'm fine._

My phone buzzed inside my jacket pocket. My hand fished around the the pocket, around a couple of receipts, a pen and loose change before I pulled out the vibrating screen.

"Come on!" I whined at the picture of Agent Coulson. I didn't not have it in me to deal with him too. I picked up, though, remembering his promise to leave me alone if I met with Fury one last time.

"What."

"Hi Siri. How did the audition go?" He sounded chipper as usual. And it rubbed me the wrong way.

"Fine." I growled.

"I see. Still going to make it today?" His voice didn't falter.

"Yes."

"Need a ride?"

"No."

"Okay then. See you soon."

I hung up. Poor Coulson. I always ended up taking things out on him. I really did want a ride. It was a long walk and my dance bag was feeling heavy. My pride kept me from calling him back. I sulked in line, waiting for my turn for a hot drink. A thought came to me then. My finger hovered for a moment over the screen of my phone. Would he even have his wireless turned on? I pressed send.

It rung a few times. I almost hung up unitl I heard the muffled sound of someone picking up.

"Steve?" I said. No one answered. Just scratching and a mumbled word.

"Hello?" I heard his voice after a moment. I listened to him struggle.

"Hi Steve, it's Siri."

"Hello?" he said, again. A few tones piped in my ear. He was pressing buttons.

"Steve!"

"Yeah." he said.

"Can you hear me?"

"Siri?"

"Yes."

"Damn machine." he muttered and pressed a few more buttons. A giggle escaped my mouth.

"Siri?"

"Hi Steve. Can you hear me?"

"I can. Can you hear me?" I pulled the speaker away from my ear. He was shouting.

"Yes." I smiled widely. He reminded me of my grandma when she got her computer laptop. I had to explain, draw pictures and re-explain how to power it on and off, never mind getting on the internet or sending an email.

"Hello." he said matter-of-fact-ly and very loudly.

"Hi. Steve. Uh, I have a favor to ask."

"A favor?" He yelled.

"Can you give me a ride?"

"A ride?"

"Yes. Are you sure you can hear me?"

"I can't seem to find the ear gizmo."

I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing.

"Can you pick me up?" I told him the street numbers I was on the corner of.

"No problem. See you in twenty."

"Thank you."

"Goodbye Siri."

I waited and listened as he failed to hang up. After a while I hung up and ordered a coffee with a smile. That was one way to brighten up a crap day. Just call Steve.

I finished my coffee just as he pulled up on a motorcycle. I felt a thrill of doubt and excitement. I had never been on a motorcycle. He stood up over the bike and then swung a leg over. I smiled.

"Hey," I said.

"Hi there."

* * *

**Please don't hate me for not updating sooner. I keep getting distracted with other fanfictions I want to write, and future blog. Don't worry, though. I wont give up on Siri and Steve. I love you all. Thank you so much for the feedback and for taking the time to read and enjoy! **

**-Coy**


	5. Undaunted Blue

**Hello friend! I hope this finds you well. I had a great run of the show I was in, and now I am ready to crank out some writing. Watch out, Siri! Thank you soooo much for your reviews and follows. They are a great motivator. I love entertaining you with words. **

* * *

**In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated**

**Undaunted Blue**

* * *

I watched eagerly as Steve strapped my dance bag to the back of the bike and pulled out a helmet.

"Thank you for the ride."

"You are very welcome. I offered." He half smiled.

"Still."

He handed me the helmet. It was a green vintage shape and strapped under my chin like one you would use for a bicycle. I realized quickly that my hair was a problem; it wouldn't fit. I began unpinning my bun, and strands began to fall out haphazardly. Steve waited patiently, watching my hair collapse around my face as bobby pins slipped out. I grinned apologetically; there were a lot of pins. When I finally got the helmet on, I couldn't figure out the vintage clasp.

Steve's fingers brushed and bumped under my chin as he secured it snugly. I firmly placed my gaze above his head. I did my best to ignore the little puffs of breath tickling my jaw, and the smell of leather and cinnamon, when he moved closer.

His fingers moved up to my cheekbones and caught wily pieces of blonde hair, tucking them gently into the helmet. I caught his eyes, just for a second and was struck with a thought. The look in his eyes, the one he had when he was helping someone else, when he had purpose, the clear undaunted blue, was a tell tale of contentment, if not happiness. It was the color of Colorado sky, of belonging, of home.

It was my new favorite color.

Steve straddled the bike and then turned his head, waiting for me to follow suit. "You can put your feet here," he pointed to metal bars sticking out almost directly below where I was going to sit.

I got a wave of anxiety, then, as I swung a leg over to stand behind him. How close was I supposed to sit? Did I hold him? Where? What if we tipped over? I froze, behind him. When he didn't feel me sit he looked back again.

"Ready?"

I wasn't. I sat down, placing my feet behind his legs.

He kicked started the bike and it growled under me, angry. He sat down; everything shifted heavily, his feet still on the ground. What happened when he picked them up? I was far enough back to not actually be touching him. He watched traffic and I worried. It was oddly more intimate a position than I was expecting.

"You can hold onto me." He fairly yelled over the growling of the motorcycle. I obediently and gratefully placed my hands on either side of his ribs, hoping it wasn't going to be a fast start.

And then we were moving, fitting into the flow of traffic easily. The biting smell of fumes from the countless cars in front could have ruined the experience, but the feel of my hair tugging behind like a kite, and the force of the chill air on my cheeks instantly elevated my mood by sixty percent. Image of dogs sticking their heads out the windows of cars had me wanting to stick my tongue out to catch the smells of the city. Dogs had it right. They knew how to ride a vehicle.

Skyscrapers stretched above, needlepoints poking to the grey clouds above. It felt like a tunnel, an endlessly tall tunnel of cold air and exhaust, of lights and metal. I realized I was grinning like a maniac and I was unable to stop. It was just too damn fun. The freedom of no car ceiling was invigorating. My eyes watered in the wind, creating little trails of dried tears streaking back towards my ears. The noise of the bike drowned out any conversation and filled my brain, rattling out any other worries. I didn't know if I could get in a car ever again.

When the bike slowed for a stoplight, it jerked to a stop, slamming me into Steve. My helmet hit him in the back of the head. I laughed before I yelled I was sorry. His brows furrowed in mock seriousness and he reached to his head to rub his hair back into place. I held him closer when we started again, wrapping my long arms around his middle. The heat of his body warmed me through his jacket and mine.

This wasn't cheating. It wasn't. I was just holding on so I wouldn't fly off the back. And snuggling into his broad back, fitting in just between his shoulder blades. It felt like cheating. Like I was getting to snuggle him, with an excuse. I reveled in our closeness, knowing it was going to come to an end and I would have to keep my hands to myself and pretend I was fine just being a little sister to him as soon as we reached our destination.

For now, I was happy.

The first few drops of rain splattered across my forehead. I hid my face behind his neck, ducking my head against the icy drops. We didn't have goggles and I wondered how Steve was able to see the road. It wasn't pouring, yet, but the drops stung my eyes. I didn't how far we had to go. I was still happy.

"You ok?" I barely heard him call over his shoulder.

"Yes!" The smell of rain…

My teeth began to chatter and I wrapped myself closer to Steve, who seemed unfazed by the weather. Stupid superheroes. I ducked my head further behind his shoulder, hiding from the brunt of the wind and rain. My hands were freezing, clutched at the front of his jacket. I was thoroughly cold and wet when we slowed, turned sharply tilting to the side like a ship in a storm, and jerked to a stop under Stark Tower. Dry, stale air replaced the rain. I sat up straighter, wanting to see where we were headed.

A tall man, maybe an agent, took one look at us from inside his booth and keyed in the code to slide open a wide set of metal doors. We drove further into the underbelly of Stark Tower. The air hummed with the vibrations echoing off the empty grey parking garage walls floor and ceiling. Another agent nodded at Steve through the racket. He sat at a desk with a book propped in front of him. Steve maneuvered the bike to the middle of the garage to a metal platform, propping us up with his legs, and turned the bike off. The abrupt silence was deafening. I felt my ears pop. I hesitated, not sure if I should get off or stay.

Before I could decide, my stomach dropped. We rose, hoisted by the platform, right through the ceiling into the floor above. I held on tightly, worried, we would roll off the edge. Steve didn't seem concerned, and I felt a little silly. Of course he wouldn't let us go off the edge. Still, just in case, I let my feet drop to the ground.

The floor above was filled with cars, some plain, some quite fancy with shiny paint and polished rims. I could almost smell the cost through the scent of tires. We kept rising, through what looked like an auto body shop, to a third floor. The platform clanked to a stop. This level had another bike, newer but definitely cheaper and uglier than Steve's. There were at least three SHILED cars, sleek and black, tinted windows. A few other normal person cars lined up in a row behind.

"You can get off. I'm just going to park." Steve's voice seemed small compared with the absent growl of the motorcycle. I did not want to get off. I wanted to keep riding. Or at least keep holding on. I forced myself to untangle my arms and stand. I backed off the platform quickly, fumbling with the helmet again, much colder away from the heat of Steve's body. The front of me was dry—it had been shield from the rain—but the back of me was soaked. The tire must have kicked water up. My dance bag was probably just as drenched. My pointe shoes were going to be ruined. I slid the helmet off, the straps just loosened enough to do so. My hair was a disaster. I pulled at it, separating it enough to braid it over my shoulder.

I traded Steve the helmet for my bag, and he balanced it on the seat. He was dripping from nose to boots. He shook his head.

"I am sorry about that." He said, unzipping his leather jacket, darkened down the front by the rain. "You must be freezing."

"No, it was fun." The sound of my teeth chattering broke up my words into Morse code. A whole subtextual message. What would it say? SOS?

He shrugged out of his sleeves and I decided to do the same. The air was warm inside, and my jacket was dripping. He hung our coats over the bike to dry and pulled me into his side, wrapping one arm around my shaking shoulders.

My heart skipped three beats and then made up for it by hammering double time. He walked us to the end of the room to an elevator. The inside was the same deep red as it had been a few months ago. It was strange stepping back inside that horrible day. I closed my eyes. I had a feeling this would happen. It was going to be really hard to suppress all those memories while inside the actual building.

"Identification, please."

My eyes shot open.

"JARVIS, don't you know us?"

"Good afternoon, Captain. Ms. Eisen. Protocol calls for identification. Now, if you don't mind."

There was a high-tech looking contraption in place of the buttons one would push to choose the destination. Steve bent in half, looking right into a screen. A light flashed, presumably scanning his eye ball. A picture lit the screen. It was candid and it was Steve. He was halfway in between taking a bite of what looked like cereal. I almost laughed.

Steve grunted, annoyed. "JARVIS can you change the picture already?"

"I cannot override Mr. Stark's commands."

He sighed and pushed me forward. I bent, copying what Steve did. The light flashed again and it took all I had to stand still and not blink. My picture was much worse. It was taken on that day, exactly as I was taking a shot of tequila from Tony Stark's favorite glass. I nearly choked.

"Thank you," said Jarvis.

"Who took this?"

"I did. I am equipped with many security cameras."

I was blushing, unable to look at Steve. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Just as the elevator began to rise, a song blared out from some hidden speakers. It was classic rock, something screechy, like a song off of the video game guitar hero.

"Tony installed it when SHIELD made more house calls." Steve explained, pointing to the scanner.

I smiled. Tony and I had mutual dislike of SHILED's meddling. We did not, however, have the same taste in music.

The doors opened a minute later, to a new level, one I had never seen. The walls were paneled with wood, giving the wide room a very manly feel. We stepped into what appeared to be a living room mixed with a laboratory. Clear computer screens lit several corners, some running the news like TVs. There was a lounge area next to tall windows, overlooking the city. It was like comfort and awesome had a kid and it turned out to be a room that resembled Tony in every way. I wondered who his decorator was.

Pepper Potts stepped out from behind the bar (did he have a bar on every level?) smiling. I stared. She was in jean shorts and a relaxed blouse. And barefoot. I had never seen her in anything other than pencil skirts and expensive dresses. Her hair was down, past her shoulders, instead of up or at the back of her neck.

"Hello, Steve. Coffee black?" She handed him a mug and then turned to me. "You must me Siri. I am sorry we haven't met before."

"Uh, no problem," I said awkwardly. "Thank you for, um, having me."

"Gotta love motorcyle rides in the rain." Tony snaked an arm around Pepper's waist, and looked Steve's wet pants up and down. I watched Steve's jaw clench. I guess they still had trouble getting along. Pepper smacked Tony lightly on the shoulder.

"Uh, Siri?" Tony pulled his phone out of the pocket of his dark jeans, and addressed the screen with my name. "Please call Captain wet pants and tell him to get a real car. Or at least a Ducati."

"_From now on, I will call you Captain Wet Pants. OK_?" A robotic female voice intoned from his phone.

"Steve Jobs would have been proud." Tony said sarcastically. "Even JARVIS thinks she's an idiot. Then again, she is a woman." Pepper smacked his ribs.

"You have a problem with women?" Romanov stepped forward, crossing her arms accentuating her boobs. Tony looked like he was about to retort, but Pepper smacked him again.

"Hi, Siri," Romanov said. "Cap."

Did no one call him by his first name?

"_What can I help you with_?" iphone Siri said.

Tony's face broke into a grin.

Pepper plucked the phone out of Tony's hands. "Alright that's enough."

"_I don't understand 'Alright that's enough_.'" The phone said.

"Toss it." Tony said. "JARVIS might fall in love and I, uh, have a thing with sharing attention."

"That's an understatement," Steve muttered.

"Pipe down, kids." Directory Fury, still dressed in his trench coat and eyepatch stood from the lounge area. I was half way between annoyed and thoroughly amused until I noticed him. My mood dropped instantly.

"Glad you could make it, Siri."

"Yeah," was all I could say.

"Please have a seat."

I felt Steve's hand on my shoulder as he walked us to the lounge. I sat down and then remembered my butt was wet from the ride. I stayed seated, though, and hoped for the best. Steve sat next to me, the gravity of his body tugging me closer. Tony and Pepper left the room, but Romanov sat down on Fury's side, across from Steve and I.

"Have you been keeping up with the news?" Fury laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on his knees. Quite pretentiously, I might add. Even is body language rubbed me the wrong way.

"No." I don't think I have ever actually read the newspaper, in my life, and I hadn't even turned the TV on since I had moved in.

His one eye narrowed, detecting attitude. "Thought not. Talk with Walter?"

A jolt of memory shocked me. Just this morning he had wanted to say something, but couldn't in the presence of my mother. How could Fury know? I didn't like where this was heading.

"No." I half lied. We really didn't talk. Walter just told me to call him later and then babbled on about some nonsense. "How do you know Walter?"

"Been in the world a while, Siri. Important people always end up meetin' and either fight along side one another, or against."

"Which is it?" I challenged, suddenly ready to defend Walter.

"With. For now. But that's not why you're here."

"What the fuck does that mean?" I was not about to give him control. Conversations were two sided and he seemed to forget that a lot.

Steve's hand wrapped around the top of my arm. I hadn't realized by body was on the edge of the couch, coiled. He gently tugged me. I looked at him, apologizing with my eyes, for my bad language.

Fury didn't look as forgiving. His lips were drawn in a tight line. He slid a newspaper across the white marble coffee table. I caught it before it slipped off the edge. It was opened to the middle. I scanned the page, looking for a clue.A word caught my eye: Aspen. The headline read **Aspen Arson Sparks Again**. My breath caught. Too impatient to read on, I looked up.

"What's happening?"

"There have been a series of arson cases in Aspen, since you left. Three mansions have been razed, and a forest fire nearly took a section of Independence Pass. All have a central starting spot, that the authorities can see. Purposeful burnings. But there's a funny thing about it all. No source can be traced, matches, lighters, ovens, flammable fluids, lightning, nothin'. When funny things like that happen, it's SHIELD's job to find the source and take care of it. Don't think I won't do my job."

"What…what are you saying? You think…my mother is doing it?"

"I know Amora is. Last I checked, Freya was your biological mother."

I was speechless. I sprang off the couch. Two weapons were trained, instantly on my chest. Romanov and an agent I hadn't noticed before. Sneaky bastards. Steve jumped up, too, bristling at the agent, just daring him to even bat an eye at me.

I ignored all of them, turning away to the windows overlooking the city. A fire began licking my insides, slowly. No source. She was unstable, I knew. But…this?

"Walter has confirmed it." Fury continued.

Smoke filled my lungs. I felt pale and light, just a piece of paper, easily consumed by fire.

"Her name is Emelia." I coughed.

There was silence behind me.

"There are two sides to that woman, Siri. You know one of them. You know the woman who raised you, whom you call mother. You know Emelia, but you do not know Amora. She is a sorceress bent on vengeance, made of pride. Amora only loves Amora."

"My mother loves me." I knew this for sure.

"Emelia does, Amora doesn't."

I whirled around, the fire blazing. "You don't know that."

"_Amora_ used you. You were just a pawn to her, a way to get revenge on your real parents. _Amora_ will stop at nothing to have her control over you. As long as you are _Amora's_ prisoner, body heart and brain, she has leverage over Odin and Freya. _Amora_ is unstable." I flinched, hearing the very word I had thought to myself silently. "_Amora_, dormant all these years, is now taking over Emelia."

"What, like multiple personalities?" I laughed in his face, holding onto the fire now. The burning hurt less that what he was saying.

"No. Not exactly. I just need you to see that Emelia is changing, and not for the better."

I breathed the flames out in a long sigh. How did this man always seem to burn me down with words? I collapsed back onto the couch. "Was anyone hurt? In the fires." I couldn't look Fury in the face. I felt Steve sit down, again, now a distraction.

"Not this time."

Fury sighed.

"Do you know the purpose of SHIELD?"

I didn't answer. "We are the last defense of earth against superhuman hostiles. It is my job, as Director, to know about and take care of any threat unknown or known to the governments of this planet. Amora is threatening my planet."

I had no answer. I buried my head into my hands. Today was too long. Fury was not done talking at me.

"I do believe, Siri, that if anyone can bring Emelia back, it's you. And I believe you love her, that she has been a mother and you a daughter. Which is why I actually am telling you all of this, instead of just taking out that threat, silently and quickly, the way I like it."

I looked up at that. "You want me to…" I didn't know what.

"I want you to become a weapon and a shield. No pun intended."

"You mean a pawn?" I said, ironically.

"You can play peace keeper. Control Amora, eliminate the threat without conflict, and protect her from…me. Otherwise, I will not deal with her nicely. I like conflict because I always win."

"How?"

"The scepter. It's still rightfully yours. Learn to use it. Train with SHIELD personnel, develop a backbone. You lack strength and knowledge as of now. I can give you both in return for your…services."

"Train." I tested the word. It tasted like plaster, gritty and crumbly, drying out my mouth.

"Steve, here has offered to provide the basics of self defense and weaponry. Romanov has created an extensive plan to build your body. As for the Scepter, only Asgardians truly know its limits. I don't have any willing Asgardian, but there is a man outside of New York that may be able to help. Even Tony has offered to let us use his facilities."

"And I have to?" I said, sounding like a child.

"No." Fury nearly spat. "No, you can go on ignoring your problems, and loose Emelia forever and waste away in that tiny body."

I blushed. "I am stronger than I look." I muttered. All the recent comments on my size was really beginning to wear me out.

"Are you?" Fury scoffed.

I swallowed. I didn't know for sure. Romanov looked unimpressed.

"You are." Steve said, suddenly, breaking his silence. "You are superhuman."

"That reminds me." Fury pushed another paper towards me. "Sign this." He tossed me a pen.

"Why? What is it?"

"A contract with SHILED saying you aren't going to use your powers for harm. You will cooperate if we train you. You agree to check in with the Director. You _will_ keep secrets."

I picked up the page, trying really hard to read every word—I had to know what I was getting into—but all I could see was a way to protect my mother. They would kill her if I didn't do this. I could learn anything, if it meant keeping her safe.

I signed.

"Oppa!" Tony yelled from the bar. A loud _pop _cracked the tension and champagne froth bubbled over the top of a bottle held high in his hand. He dribbled the bubbly liquid over a few tall glasses and the bar itself.

"It's a little early to be celebrating." Romanov said, eyeing me without hope.

"Nonsense! It's after twelve. Loosen up, Red."

"I told you what would happen if you called me that."

"What was it again? Uh, dismember Iron Man? Oh no, that's right, you were going to take my soul, right Ginger?"

* * *

**Any feedback is welcome and appreciated! Thank you for reading! See you soon.**

**-Coy**


	6. Burn

**In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated**

**Burn**

* * *

Sharp blades of winter wind slipped in the tiny space between my wrists and sleeves, down the collar of my shirt and through the fibers of my jacket. I dug my face into the back of Steve's leather jacket, stealing warmth. Or sharing. How he could be ok in just his regular jacket and a tee shirt was still a wonder to me. Soon I wouldn't be able to handle riding on his motorcycle.

I peeked out from my warm spot to get a bearing of where we might be headed. I didn't recognize the street lined with funky apartments and parked cars. We had crossed a bridge and driven for what might have been twenty minutes. My fingers were beginning to burn from the cold. I didn't dare complain; after all, my arms were around my anchor.

We weaved deftly through traffic, which always made my heart speed. What if someone opened a car door or made a turn without signaling? I was always able to talk myself out of any real fear; it was Steve, after all. He could probably break the car with just his body. The sky turned a dusky blue as the sun set and the temperature dropped. We crossed some train tracks and entered an older, shadier part of the city. It was quieter here, smaller and more spaced out. It was weird to not have to look up to see the buildings in their entirety. These squatted, instead of towered. The bike slowed and turned into the empty parking lot of what looked like an old brick abandoned warehouse.

A spike of annoyance warmed me for a second. Where the hell was he taking me? There had better be heat inside the building.

Street lights flickered on above us as he slowed to a stop, cutting the engine. My arms were frozen around him. He sat for half a moment, feet planted firmly on the asphalt, and then stood up, forcing my arms to drop and the bike to wobble. I put my feet down too, and stared glumly in the twilight at the dismal view before me.

It would have been one thing to want to join SHIELD, to train with their elite. It was something else to be black-mailed into rearranging my life for specialized military training that I never wanted. I hated fighting and there was no way I could shoot a living thing. I was more of the send-a-strong-letter-of-disapproval kind of person. No, let's be honest. I was the kind of person that hears the news from her mother, who read an article about some conflict. Needless to say, all the gun lessons had been wasted on me.

My mother better someday understand how much I was doing, just to keep her alive. For a month I had put dance on the backburner, forgoing any auditions or classes. I had subjected myself to Natasha's regimen, running, and weight lifting. I solved logic problems (I was terrible at these) and sat through lectures on strategy and history. Some history I knew from school, and some history that no one but SHIELD personnel was supposed to know about. Despite my obvious lack of interest or aptitude, I was SHIELDed.

One long sigh escaped me as I stood.

I pulled off my helmet, laying it in the warm spot of where I sat. Steve caught my eye. One eyebrow perked in question.

"Cold," I said, excusing my loud, long sigh.

"You'll be warm soon enough." He smiled and turned to the rectangle metal building.

I'd better be.

I hugged my arms around my body. This was the next step in my training and I had been actually looking forward to it because it meant I got to spend more time with Steve. He finally deemed me strong and fat enough to learn how to punch. In my own words, obviously. We were starting with self-defense and then if/when I was ready, he would teach me basic martial arts. Honestly, I was hoping I wouldn't have to go that far.

"What is this place?"

"My old gym. I bought it off the previous owner. Couldn't believe it was actually still around."

Inside was warm, thank God. Steve flipped a switch and the lights flickered on.

It was also strangely preserved, like a history museum. There were pictures of old timey boxers, framed and hung alone one exposed brick wall. A couple of rings, slightly elevated stood empty under heavy light fixtures. The second floor jutted out as a running track, and hovered above. There were different kinds of punching bags hanging in certain parts of the open room. The floor looked like it was made of gymnastic mat, springy and forgiving.

Steve slipped his arms out of his jacket, hanging it up on the wall, above a wooden bench that looked like it was stolen from a park somewhere. It was old, white and peeling and completely out of place. I set my back down on it and reluctantly unzipped my jacket. He was already moving to an open area.

"The first thing you can do is to not get yourself into a situation," he said to the empty room. "Don't walk alone at night. Don't get drunk at some club without someone to take you home safely."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, following him to the springy floor.

"But sometimes you don't have a choice. Let's say you are walking home. It's dark and you hear footsteps behind. For some reason, you are by yourself. What is the first thing you do?"

I barely thought about it. "Pull out my phone and call someone." I did, after all, have quite a few friends with excellent fighting skills.

"Wrong. A man is more likely to attack a victim if he sees that she is distracted by a phone, or one of those hand held music devices."

"Ipod. Okay."

"What do you do?" he prompted again.

I thought for a moment. "Run?"

"Wrong. A predator will give chase if he sees that the prey is scared."

I sigh, suppressing my smirk. "Fine. What do I do?"

"You take a deep breath, turn around and howl at them."

My laugh echoed against the metal roof. Steve nearly cracked a smile; I swear I saw it. He pulled himself together and yanked my shoulders towards him, nearly shaking me to get me to listen. "The best way to show that you aren't an easy target is to turn around, face your predator and surprise them."

"You, _ha ha_, want me to, _ha ha ha_, howl at them? Like a wolf."

"Sure. Like a wolf. Do it."

"What? Now?"

"Yes."

"No! I'm not going to howl at you."

"It wont hurt my feelings." He smirked.

I snorted. It was really attractive. Not.

We stood at an impasse.

"We aren't leaving here until you surprise me," he finally said. I knew he was serious. I closed my eyes, nearly slipping back into a fit of giggles. I pulled myself together. I tried to imagine fear and the sound of boots in the dark. I imagined the feeling of being watched. I took a breath.

"YEAAHHOOOOW!"

It broke over Steve, like a wave on a rock. I broken into laughter again.

"That was pretty good," he, in all seriousness commented, "but it didn't surprise me."

My jaw dropped a bit. "Whatever. That howl would have scared the pants off of you, in the dark."

"I doubt it." He held up a hand to stop me from laughing. "But I won't make you do it again. Now. What do you do if that doesn't stop him?"

"I fight him."

"Wrong. Unless you are one hundred percent confident you will win the fight, or you are indestructible, you run. Drop what you have and find a safe, well lit place, or another person."

"But you said…" I sputtered.

"You don't fight because the goal is to keep yourself safe, not to double your chances of getting hurt."

"Fine. I howl and then I run." I crossed my arms across my chest.

"What do you do if he catches up to you?" He walked around me and placed his hands, heavy and wide, over the back of my shoulders. "And grabs you like this?" He pulled himself closer, wrapping the crook of his elbow around my neck.

I realized this was hopeless. I felt safe here, enveloped. I could stand here like this all night. I prayed he took my hammering heart for adrenaline or fear, not for what it really was.

I gripped his forearm in my hands and tried to squeeze out from under his trap. I was met with steel resistance. I pushed harder, pulled harder. I put all of my weight into it, struggling until I was panting for breath and my hair flew in wisps around my hot face.

"Is that all you got?" he goaded.

I didn't take the bait. "Yeah." I stood still, waiting for him to release me, praying he wouldn't.

"You are dead," he announced, letting me go. Freedom was cold. I pulled at my hair, taming it.

"I agree." I seriously doubted I was going to be able to fend off a dude as big as Steve.

"Siri. Please take me seriously." His voice caught me off guard; it was like silk caught on a nail. "I can't always be there to save you."

I had yet to get Steve to lighten up. He didn't like flippant attitudes. It had the reverse affect on him, winding him up instead of releasing tension. Until I found out how to get him to let his proverbial hair down, too much joking was out. I swallow my pride and resolved to learn_._

"Okay. Sorry. Try me again." I turned around so he could wrap me up again. His arms returned.

"Duck your chin, push my arm directly upwards with both your hands and drop all your weight in one move," he said quietly in my ear.

I landed on my butt, surprised as a newborn baby.

"Perfect!" Steve said, pulling me up by the back of my arms. "Except, keep your footing. It's hard to run when you are sitting down."

I smiled. He tucked me against his body again and I got ready to duck.

"What if I am ready for that move?" he asked. "And you are trapped?"

"I don't know."

"Think. What movement do you have?"

I moved my head.

"Good. You can break my nose. Or even teeth. Just be warned that it hurts and can cause you injury if my teeth get the back of your head. You might try biting me. What else?"

I kicked a foot backwards.

"Exactly. My instep or shins. It might take me by surprise enough for you to try the duck again."

"What if it doesn't work? Like if he was you?"

Steve didn't answer right away, I think he knew I was just as helpless I thought. "There is plenty that you can do to fight back. Plenty." He sounded like he was reassuring himself.

"Okay." The moment was awkward for some reason. And made me feel more important to him than I actually was. Which then reminded me how stuck I was in the friend zone. "What else?"

He showed me how to throw off his balance by using his weight against him. He let me toss him over my head so that he landed on his back. By the time I had mastered all his scenarios where the bad guy came from behind, I was ready for a water break. We rested on the bench with our water bottles. I pulled out a bag of almonds even though I wasn't hungry. I was past due for my eight o'clock meal.

Out of all the new additions to my life, Romanov's diet plan for me was the hardest to get used to. I was restricted to health food, which wasn't that bad, except that I had to limit coffee. I had a certain amount of calories I had to meet and specific meal times at eight, eleven, two, five and eight. Which means I had to wake up in time. And then I had to have proof that I was following her guidelines in the form of a food diary. I wrote down everything I ate, the time, the nutritional value and the calorie amount, and then turned it in every week as if I was back in school. And this didn't include the exercise diary I turned in as well. Who knew gaining weight could be this hard?

I munched on a handful of almonds, not really enjoying the taste, and offered them to Steve. He took a few and we chewed in silence.

"What are theses?" he asked.

"Almonds."

"I don't like them."

"Me neither." We kept chewing.

I pulled out a couple string cheese sticks.

"Is the food a lot different?" I suddenly asked. "I mean, from before…"

He looked at me for a moment. "Yes and no. I can still eat meatloaf. And a hamburger is a hamburger."

I resisted the urge to laugh. Bachelors.

"What's different is the people. And the buildings. The Technology. And definitely the music. I miss music, really good music, you know? The kind you can take a girl out and dance to. Jimmy Dorsey, The Andrews Sisters, Peggy Lee. Now you turn on the radio and…it's all…loud. There's no class to it. No history behind it."

"Did you take girls out a lot?" I could just imagine him dressed to the nines, swinging some Doreen around the dance floor. Just the thought made me smile.

He chuckled, thinking about it. "Not as often as I should. I was…shy. Small. Not a lot of girls want a mousy fellow."

"Mousy?" I scoffed.

"I was. Before the experiment."

"But you could dance."

"I could. Can." His gaze slipped out of time and rested far away, on a life he missed dearly.

"We should go sometime."

A shadow of doubt played over his features. "Go?"

"Dancing. Not now, now. Some time. There are swing-dancing clubs. And jazz. I bet there are dozens. All we have to do is find them."

"Big band swing?"

"I bet so."

He considered it, and I could feel a bit of hope lighten the space between us. Hope for him to find a place in this time, in this world.

"Come on, Steve. Take a girl out."

A smile slowly lit his face. "It would be my pleasure."

I finished my cheese stick gleefully, making a list of places to check for swing dancing. I was practically bouncing off the bench when Steve stood up.

"Enough chit chat. Back to work."

* * *

The padded wall wasn't uncomfortable against my back, but it was keeping me from my escape. He had one hand pressing me up against the wall, pinning me mercilessly. The other hand drew back in a fist, readying to knock me out in one swing. His eyes weren't joking. It was startling to be in the position, to say the least, but I knew what to do.

I twisted the arm pinning me, away, and rolled to the side just as his fist hit the wall, right where my nose had been. As soon as I rolled far enough to be free, I ran not knowing where exactly I was going. I didn't get far.

A hot weight slammed against my back and threw me forward. I landed with a huff, clenching my teeth together, so they wouldn't knock. Giving myself no time to recover, knowing he would be on me before I even took a breath, I rolled again, on to my back, kicked, landed a hit, and sprang up gasping. Sprinting again, I thanked Romanov for making me run all those cold cold mornings. I headed for a punching dummy with a shadowy face, a statue in the far corner of the warehouse. I pumped my burning legs harder as adrenaline carried me closer.

His footsteps seemed loud to my ears, too close to me, and too fast. I was like antelope, slight, running for my life from a lion. In a split second decision I dropped to the floor, stopping suddenly, and tucked my head out of harms way. He tripped, just as I hoped for.

I hadn't anticipated the pain of his leg connecting with my body. It knocked all the air out of me in one loud grunt. I watched out of the corner of my eye as his instincts took over; he somersaulted right over me, twisting his body midair to land facing me in one smooth movement. I couldn't uncurl my body. I changed tactics.

"Siri!" Steve dropped the act, and was at my side before I could catch my breath. "Siri, you stupid, stupid, smart girl." He rolled me over, and I let him. There was no energy left in me. "What did I do? Where are you hurt? Let me see." He pried my arms away from my rib cage and looked me in the face, searching, apologizing.

In one last desperate move, I rammed my forehead into his face and he scrambled backwards. A second wind brought me to my hands and feet and I was on him before he could recover, pining his neck to the ground. He froze.

"You're dead."

And then I saw the blood. I scrambled off of him.

"Oh God! Oh God!" I broke his nose. I broke Steve's nose. "I'm sorry Steve!" My hands searched, uselessly for something to fix what I'd done. I pulled him up to sitting, wincing as my ribs twinged. "You told me I couldn't hurt you!"

He smiled through the blood. "You surprised me!" He laughed one short bark of approval. I felt my chest loosen as he sat up.

"But…your nose!"

"It's fine. It'll heal. You were amazing!" He stood up and more blood splattered his white tee shirt. He looked around for a moment.

I glowed in his approval, stepping back as he pulled his ruined shirt over his head and wadded it around his nose.

He sounded funny with his nose plugged. "Doob you bmind?"

I shook my head and forced myself to not stare as we headed to our bags.

Sweat dripped from my face. I was completely exhausted. My limbs were shaking from the residual adrenaline and I felt life seeping out of me. What had just happened?

I had been sure that I was totally unready for that. Steve had drilled me on frontal attacks until he thought I was ready to try a scenario where he would play the attacker and I would use what he had taught me to get away. I thought it was premature, but he insisted that it just took practice.

Something came over me, some instinct I never had before. It wasn't flight, not exactly, even thought I was mostly trying to get away. I was luring him closer, feigning hurt, biding my time until the right moment when I had an opportunity to hurt him. I didn't recognize myself. That girl, kicking, making split decisions, fighting to live, she was not the Siri I knew.

The Siri I knew was anxiety ridden. Not a fighter. Neutral. Frozen. All the time I was with Loki and SHIELD, before and during the attack, I had been paralyzed with fear. It had only gotten worse when I got home. I had developed stress ulcers and insomnia. Moving to New York had helped a lot, but now the thought of my cooperation being the only thing that stood between Fury and my mother's death had me on the edge again.

The bravest thing I had done was when the ship was crashing and I had the scepter. Then it was the scepter that had given me confidence.

This side of me was unfamiliar. She was strong and smart, even. She wasn't afraid. The very thought of being brave, of being free from anxiety and fear stopped me in my tracks.

"Whad is id? Bar you ok?"

My hand found the sore spot on my side, automatically. My mind was reeling.

"I wasn't scared."

"Whad?"

"I wasn't scared of you."

"Ib know. I could dell." He pointed to his nose.

"No. Steve. I didn't panic."

He got it, then. He walked back to me and pulled me into his side. I did my best to ignore the feeling of his skin, warm, smooth, completely off limits. There went my heart again.

"Byou did good."

"Sorry about your nose. I don't know what came over me."

"Bar you kiddin' bme? Thad was the bmost fun I've had ind ages."

* * *

Fire is always hungry.

It takes without remorse, devours what it wants; and it wants everything. It sparks in the dark, filling the void with heat, melts away the metals and plastics and fabrics, the things of the earth that have no meaning. Flame licks up the crumbs, leaves behind a clean, black world.

I understand fire. It comes easily, leaping from my mind, to my hands, and my hands to the hideous brown curtains of a mansion. I don't know who's house it is, some Texan vacationer probably. It is nestled sweetly in the wintered aspen tree grove, looking down on the twinkling town of Aspen. Not for much longer.

I feel the singe of the fire, and taste the smoke on the back of my throat. I step closer as the orange glow crackles up the drapery, meets my eye level, then climbs to the ceiling to take a bite of plaster. The cold of mountain winter stands stark white out side, framed by the flames. My skin prickles, warning me not to get too close.

Fire is treacherous. It has no love, only allies. Oxygen, for one. Love is a give and take, and fire only takes. Oxygen recieves nothing back from fire.

Taking comes easily to me, too. I never lost that.

I took Siri. I haven't regretted it once. Odin deserved the misery; I deserved the companionship. I devoured their happiness and made it my own. I got what I wanted, used my…secrets…to get what I wanted. Money. Luxury. A new life, one much simpler than the past. Not for much longer.

What happened in New York is the beginning of the end. I can feel it in the smoke that thickens until I can't see out the window anymore. My position has been compromised and the fabric of this life I created is beginning to unravel.

Over the roar of the fire eating away the cabinets, my phone lights up. Phones. I used to think this world so pathetic. Now I relish in the simplicity. Siri is calling. I can't so no to Siri.

"Honey!" my voice cracks.

"Hi Mom." She sounds every bit as far away as she is.

"Hi." I cough.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Burning.

"Oh. Okay. I was just thinking about you. How are you? How is Walt?"

"Fine. Everything is fine. Walt is fine." None of this is true. Had I always been a liar?

"What's that noise?"

"I'm driving. The window is down." I don't know where that came from.

"Isn't it freezing?"

"No." It's very hot.

"Mom, are you taking care of yourself?"

"Sure, honey. Don't worry about us. Just forget us."

"What?" That hurt her. I am very good at manipulation.

"Nothing, Siri. I hope you are having a great life."

"What? Mom, what are you talking about? What is this about?"

This is about life and death. This is about how much you love me. I don't say any of this. I am silent. I hear another voice on the other line. A man. My heart instantly burns with jealousy. Siri is mine.

"I will always be your mother. That will never change. You know that right?"

"Of course." I hear the tears in her voice.

"I love you, Siri."

"I love you too, Mom. Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Don't…don't do…don't...never mind. I love you."

I start to sweat in the heat. What can I do but burn?

* * *

**Hi guys! Anyone still out there? Thanks for being so patient with me. I had an incredible time over in Australia. The beaches were to die for. And the lifeguards. Am I right? **

**Anyway! I'm back and refreshed. Thank you to those who took the time to read and review. It made me super excited to get back to In the Middle. I hope to hear from you and you can expect to hear from me. **

**Love you all, my avengers.  
**

**-Coy  
**


	7. The Beast You Made Me

**In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated**

**The Beast You Made Me**

* * *

My breath came in short fast bursts of white steam. The street lamp above cast an orange glow and the tiny particles of what ever made up cold air sparkled. My fingers couldn't seem to hit the right parts of my phone; they missed, or hit other widgets in their hurry. Walter. Call Walter. Call Mom. Call 911. Call someone. Who could I call? I struggled with the screen of my phone until I dropped it on a frozen puddle, cracking the screen and the thin milky sheet of ice over pavement.

A hoarse noise broke from my mouth. I dropped down, scrambling to put the piece back together.

I didn't know how I got outside, or what exactly my plan was. All I knew was a certainty that my mother was in danger. It was a danger I had no power to fight. I was too far away. I was too weak. And the danger was something no one could fight. She was killing herself. I had heard it in the tone of her voice. She had given up hope of this world. And what could I do? All I said was I love you. I tried calling her back the moment I hung up to tell her I was on my way, that I would never leave her again, that it was all my fault. But she didn't answer her phone.

An annoyance pulled at my attention, pulled at my arm, trying to get me to stand up, to listen. I let my focus land for a second on that distraction: Steve. He steamed in the night air. His face reflected a fraction of my terror. He didn't matter. Nothing mattered unless it was going to save my mother. I didn't answer his questions, I didn't have time for that and I didn't have the breath for that.

I felt my ribs working double time, expand-contract. My breaths were loud to me. I was drowning. Even this acknowledgement couldn't scare me more than the thought of loosing my mother. What could I do? How could I save her if I couldn't even work my phone without it breaking. I couldn't even stand. Steve held me up, shouting at me to answer him.

Despite the iron grip of his hands on the tops of my arms I still felt like I was falling backwards. It's the same feeling of when you are drifting off to sleep and you jerk yourself awake. Only I am not able to wake myself up. The image of her driving up the pass above Aspen, ramming through winter road blocks, and speeding right off the edge of the narrowest part of the one lane road, kept playing through my head. She was falling down the cliff to rock and snow and an icy river.

I pulled myself out of Steve's hands and stumbled towards the exit of the parking lot. I would get to her, save her, even if I had to walk. A tiny part of me knew I was being stupid, that I could never get to Aspen on foot; the majority of me knew I didn't have a choice. I needed her. God, I needed her.

Steve caught me before I could trip, and picked me up. I struggled in the familiar position. My weak flailing had no effect on him. I was low on oxygen and still falling. I tried to tell him I had to get to her, that she was going to die. The words didn't have enough wind behind them to sail out my mouth.

We were back inside and it was too bright and too warm. He sat me down on the bench, shoving my head down between my legs so that I hung up side down. I heard his voice. I heard him swear. Weird spots swam across my vision. My stomach roiled and my jaws tingled. I was so pathetic. I couldn't save her if I couldn't even control myself. I saw her dump out a hundred pills from our cabinet. I saw her with a gun, even though I knew we didn't have one in the house. I saw holding a match, dripping in gasoline.

"Coulson, I need you to pick us up. Siri is having some sort of attack."

"Breathing? Sort of. Okay. Okay. I don't know."

"She was on the phone with Amora."

"No, I don't think so."

"She did this before. On the—"

"Yes."

"Okay. I will. Understood."

I was dripping. Falling.

I felt Steve sit down next to me. He pulled me up.

"Siri. Siri!" A jolt of pain, sharp and real, jerked me awake. My cheek stung. He had hit me.

"Siri. You need to breathe. Breathe."

He had slapped me. I found his eyes, reveling in the aftertaste of his smack. I coughed and coughed, finally starting to cry. My chest loosened up enough for a deep breath, one that didn't wheeze.

"There you go. Good girl." He pulled me to him and I let him. The fog in my brain cleared. The flood of blind terror subsided.

"She's dying." I choked out.

"Amora?"

"We have to save her."

He was silent, but his arms pulled me in tighter.

"Coulson will be here soon. Let's get your jacket on."

I sat up and he helped me zip. My hands shook. "We have to go to Aspen."

"Siri, what did she say?" Steve un-wadded his bloody tee shirt and slipped it over his head and then zipped up his jacket over it.

I didn't know how to explain how I knew. Her exact words didn't say that she was going to kill herself. I just knew. I was connected with her. She was my mother.

"What happened here?"

Romanov took us in with one long look.

Steve and I spoke at the same time. "Siri had a panic attack."

"My mom needs help."

"She needs help?"

"She is going to kill herself. How fast can we get to Aspen?"

"Natasha," Steve said, standing up, picking up his bag and mine in one hand.

"Hey Cap. How do you know?" She walked over to my side, helping me stand on trembling legs.

"On the phone. She said…she said…" What had she said?

"…didn't get a hold of Walter." Coulson walked through the door. "Hi Siri. Steve. What's the story?"

"I need to go to Aspen. Tonight. Now."

"No Walter?" asked Romanov. She steered us outside.

Coulson glanced at me. "No. We are sending Raleigh and Sean. They should be there…"

"What!" I burst out. "No! I am going. I have to go. We have to go save her."

"We have some of our best on it, Siri."

"She needs me!" I was yelling. I hardly noticed the jet parked right in the middle of the parking lot.

"It's too dangerous." Romanov said.

"She is the one in danger! I have to go to her!"

"Calm down, Siri." Steve said.

"I can't! She's dying!"

We were inside the jet. Why wasn't anyone listening to me?

"Take us to Aspen Colorado." I ordered the pilot.

"Headquarters." Coulson corrected.

"Are you fucking retarded?!"

"Siri."

My eyes swam with more tears. "I will pay you. I'll do anything! Please."

Steve sat me down and strapped me into a seat. "She is going to be fine. We will straighten this out. You'll see."

"What about Walter?" I demanded.

"We will take care of him."

The jet began to lift off the ground. A dull roar flooded out my protests until we were in the air. I closed my eyes, fighting off the panic that was threatening to drown me again. I fought it with reason. I had to think this through. How could I get them to understand that I had to save my mom? What could I say to get them to take me to Aspen?

"I'll do anything." I said again, when we had reached altitude and it was quite in the cabin. There was no answer. "I can't even believe this." It was like they didn't speak my language. "She's my _mom._ And you're just going to let her die. And you wont even take me to her. It's not like I ask for favors from you!" Silence again. "Fine. I'll go by myself. Just let me off." I knew I sounded childish. I didn't care. My pride was much less important than my mom's survival.

I knew I could talk her down off the ledge. I had always been able to calm her. I knew, beyond a doubt, that if I could just get to her, she would be ok. I would take care of her. All she needed was love. I didn't have enough money to buy a car. I could rent a cab. Or take a bus. A flight. From where?

"Where are you taking me?" I called out.

"Headquarters." Coulson finally answered.

"And where is that?"

No answer. This was beginning to feel familiar. This was just like when SHIELD had first kept me prisoner on the helicarrier. They ignored my questions, kept me from going where I wanted, or needed to go with no regard for my rights or wishes.

Tears again, and a tightening of my throat. This could not be happening. Didn't they trust me? I was practically one of them. Why wasn't Steve on my side? He sat across the cabin from me, pointedly not looking in my direction. I couldn't believe he would take SHIELD's side over mine.

I could not for the life of me think of what I would do if they kept me again. I was stronger now, and new more about how SHIELD worked, but that was hardly enough to escape from them. Could I put what I learned into action and actually use it against the people who taught me? My mind raced, trying to answer itself.

They hardly seemed to care if my mom was killing herself. In fact, it was almost if they were ok with it. No, they were grateful she was doing the dirty work for them. Now they didn't have to worry about her going crazy.

The landing was shorter and quieter than the take-off and I realized with a jolt, that we were back on the helicarrier. My hands gripped the seat beneath; my fingernails ached from the pressure of digging in. _Ohgodohgodohgod._ This was really happening again.

A sob broke from me. There was no way off, no getaway. Loki was right. He was so right. SHEILD was the enemy. They were the source of my misery. I did nothing to deserve this. I should have gone with Thor and Loki to Asgard, escaped when I could.

"Siri," Steve was in front of me. "It's going to be alright."

I shook my head. My mom was dead or dying. I was right back to where this nightmare started.

"I promise you," he began unbuckling the straps that kept me in my seat. "You are going to be fine. I won't let anything happen to you. I am on your side."

I choked on a hybrid laugh-sob. He wouldn't let anything happen to me. That was a joke. What about what already had happened?

"Let's go." Coulson beckoned us to follow. Steve took my hand and we hurried through the thin air and biting wind to get inside. The helicarrier was just how I remembered it, albeit we weren't falling out of the sky.

The control room buzzed with agents who didn't give us a second glance. I wiped at my face, trying to compose myself over the fear of being here. Fury stood in the center of the room talking to a familiar face. I had seen her somewhere. They turned to us as we approached.

"You want the bad news or the ugly?"

I didn't answer.

"She's alive."

"What!" A huge weight lifted off my chest. I saw the looks they were giving each other. I didn't care. They could wish her dead all they wanted. "Where is she? Can I see her?"

Fury lifted a hand. "Hold up. I haven't given you the ugly."

I waited while he took a breath, ignoring the fact that he thought my mom being alive was bad news.

"Amora has taken Aspen."

It didn't quite sink in. It didn't make sense. Taken Aspen where?

"She has Walter hostage; we don't know if he is alive. Fifteen are dead, mostly local police. SHIELD has been given the authority to fully deal with the situation."

"Taken…what? Walter?" My brain was not grasping the situation.

"We have prepared for the worst and hoped for the best. Now that the worst has happened I trust you will let us take care of the situation. Stark, Banner and Hawkeye should be there momentarily."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"Amora is now more than a threat. She cannot go on killing and destroying."

"What are you going to do?"

"All attempts of trying to take her live have failed."

"What are you going to do?" I asked again.

"We are going to kill her, if we can."

A hole opened up under me and I fell. Just when there was hope she was going to live, they were going to kill her.

"Please." My voice was a whisper.

"Siri," Steve said, "can't you see she has a hold on you?"

"I understand this is hard for you." Fury said, coldly.

"If I could just talk to her I know I could stop her."

"This is not Emelia we are talking about, Siri. This is a mind-controlling, vengeful, selfish, witch-queen. I keep telling you, your mother is gone. She has been gone for a while now. Mourn her, not Amora."

"Amora _is_ my mother, goddammit! Can't you fucking see that?" A hush fell over the room. "I don't care what she's done! She is my _mother_!"

"Calm down and think, Siri," he said to me. "Get her out of here," he told Steve.

"Come on Siri." Steve began to drag me out of room, wrapping an arm around me. I turned my hatred on Steve.

"You _promised_! You said you were on my side!" I shouted at him and suddenly realized I knew what to do. I ducked my chin, pushed with all my might and dropped my weight. I landed on my hands and feet and was running as I hit the ground. I didn't get more than four steps before there were agents all over, holding me down. I fought tooth and nail, to no avail.

"That's enough!" Steve's voice boomed over the struggle.

* * *

It was dark and empty and made of metal. A cargo hold maybe, but only carrying two people. I sat, slumped against one cold wall. The hum of the helicarrier vibrated my chest. Steve sat beside me, quiet, waiting.

"I need her," I tried reasoning with him.

"No you don't." He shot right back in a tone that didn't leave room for argument. As if he understood anything.

"Yes I _do_." Venom dripped from my tone.

"You _don't_, Siri." He turned to face me. "Amora has made you think that you need her, all your life. She cast a spell on you. On Walter. I saw it when I came to Aspen. She has you two under her control. That's why it feels like _this_ to lose her. She has made you completely dependant on her, like a drug. Think, Siri. She kidnapped you to get vengeance on your family. She lied to you, your entire life, is _still_ lying to you. She _used_ you. She wants to control you, to make you weaker than she is. You are strong without her."

"I can't believe that." I pressed my back into the metal behind me, wanting to slip between the molecules and fall, for real, through the air.

"Why not? The evidence is right in front of you. Walter is under her spell, if he's even still alive."

"Because, Steve, if I believe that I am just a pawn to her, that she has lied to me all my life and doesn't love me, then I have to believe that I have never been loved by anyone. She is all I have. It's always been her and me. Take that away and I have nobody. If I am just a pawn…then that's all I'm worth." Would the tears never end? "I can't face that, Steve. I'm not strong enough."

"Don't you see?" He stood up over me and walked to the end of the room and back. "That's exactly what she wants you to think. You are worth so much more. You just have to break her spell. You are strong enough."

"I am pathetic! Everyone thinks so. I know so. I can't do what you are asking. I am too alone without her." I stopped watching him pace, slid my eyes down to my hands, clenched around the sleeves of my jacket.

"You are not alone. You have me."

"No I don't. You don't love me," I said this automatically, pulling my arms closer to myself for some sort of protection.

"Yes I do." His voice was a soft flame.

He made a noise of frusteration.

"I couldn't admit it. Not even to myself," he continued. "Not until now." He turned around and I was caught by his eyes. Blue, blue eyes. "I love you Siri." He said it again and my heart flip-floped in a panic at the sound. "I love you because of you, despite of what you have done, what has happened to you, or what you think."

He had shocked me out of crying. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I."

There was a pregnant silence. Both of us waiting to understand.

"I don't know what to say." I didn't. I had no idea. Hadn't I been wishing for this all along? I had been wishing I could get closer to Steve because he is…what I needed.

Why had it happened this way?

"You don't have to say anything. You don't have to do anything. Just…you are worthy of love. It doesn't matter what lies Amora has whispered in your ear. It doesn't matter what Fury has told you. You are perfect."

I honestly couldn't answer. Steve left and I didn't see him again.

* * *

It takes one hour to bring Aspen to its knees.

"Emelia."

I know that voice. It is my husband. My loyal puppet. He shuffles down the empty street in a thick winter jacket and a hat I bought him for Christmas. His jaw trembles and lets out a mouthful of steamy breath. The word _Emeila_ curls out of his mouth again, hangs for a second, frozen in the night air, then drifts up to play its part in the atmosphere.

He blinks and stumbles back a step, finding that I am suddenly in front of him, too close for comfort. It is clear we are mismatched, he an old man, simple, weak-minded, and me, a goddess. I had shamelessly used him for the money and status on this earth. I tower over the man, the very picture of dark power restrained.

"What are you doing?" He asks this as if I were putting on a pair skis backwards. As if I were just out of it. Not as if I was demolishing his home. I study his wrinkled, weather worn face. He has no idea.

"Do you know what the word chaos means?" I return a question.

"Emelia." That name again.

"It's a void. Infinity of space. Formless matter. Meaningless nothing. It comes from the word chasm."

I reach out to touch his face. He shifts away and I drop my hand.

"It is a dark emptiness."

I sweep my arms out, showing him what I've done with Aspen. "This is chaos, Walter." Smoke and ash mix with snowflakes and drift through the wind. An orange glow plays on the mountainsides surrounding us, painting the snowy peaks. The sirens have stopped and it is almost quiet. They cannot help the remaining screams of the trapped people, echoing off the mountain walls.

We can't see it from here, but Highway 82 has collapsed into the ground, a sinkhole right in down the heart of Aspen. Who knew there was an abandoned mine that runs under Aspen, just waiting for a little push? Water from the old mine seeps out of the earth, turning to slush in the cold. I ate up the city, leaving a darkness to be trembled at. It is so satisfying to knock down the blocks. There is something right about this destruction of a city filled with money and diamonds and furs. Once a quaint mining town, Christmas-y winter wonderland, now sagged into the earth, smoldered from my fires.

I can see people climbing the mountains, trying to escape. I let them climb. They won't last long in the winter night, and there is nothing waiting for them on the other side. The pass is closed under piles of snow. The only other way out of town stands behind me. One road. How carelessly this town was built. This one road ends about ten yards. There is a hole, a chasm if you will, where a bridge used to stand.

"Who are you?"

I had almost forgotten Walter. The asphalt beneath my feet is frozen. I step carefully on the glass-like ice.

"Say your prayers. The flames will still burn you in your bed." I say as I take his hand. His warm, soft hand. Too soft. I feel his resistance as I pull him to the edge of the chasm.

"Emelia! Please! Listen to me!" his voice is weak. A bug on a windshield. "I love you. Please."

"Oh course you love me."

This is my favorite time of day. Long after the sun sets behind the peaks, just before the stars come out. My bare arms prickle in the cold. Across the chasm another team is forming. Police from the next towns over. They sneak, but I can still see them.

"Look." I grasp his chin and point him to peer down below. The bridge lays defeated at the bottom, a broken memorial. Also a helicopter, still burning. A nice little light to see. "Chaos. Do you see?"

He tries to nod but my fingers trap his head. "Yes," he says. I don't believe him.

"That's what it feels like, Walter. That's what my life feels like. Chaos." I explain. I feel warm wet tears drip onto my fingers. "That's what my soul feels like." This wrinkled bag of blood and sniveling bones disgusts me.

"What do you want?" he whines.

"I want Siri."

"Sh..she's in New York."

"I know that! Don't you think I know that?"

He cries out as my fingers tighten on his jaw. Something cracks. I don't let go.

"S..s…safe from you."

* * *

**Hey ya'll! I hope you had a great week! Things are picking up from here on out, and I 'm pretty excited! Stay tuned for some thrilling heroics! Just kidding. Or am I? **

**Thank you for taking the time to read. And a HUGE thank you to **

** -DitzyBrunette89- (most loyal reader. Seriously? Every chapter? You are amazing.)**

** -MustangLover97- (the reason I keep updating)**

** -Get Lost in the Music- (my fellow dance lover)**

** -Feather Death- (Coolest name ever.)**

** -AVENGERS-girl-ASSEMBLE- (Did I burn? Was that sarcastic? Was I overdramatic? I guess I did burn. :)**

**For your feedback on the last chapter, you all get a million warm fuzzy feelings from me. **

**See you soon!**

**Love,**

**Coy**


	8. What You Wish For

**Why hello. It's been a while. How's it going? I appreciate the encouragement. It's nice to see people are still around and actually care about this story. I am not a quitter, but I did need a little break. It's been about a year since I started this project. I have so much more for Siri and and I can't get enough of the Marvel Universe, so you can pretty much count on me coming back. I did have a couple of people die in my life recently and I am sure that this has affected my writing a bit, so I apologize for any change in voice you may notice. I am doing my best to keep it evenly keeled. **

**Speaking of which, this chapter is dark. Well, not that bad, but this is a tiny warning for gore and violence and. This is rated M, right? **

**Anyway, it's great to be writing again, and I can't wait to hear what you think of the latest installment of:**

* * *

**In the Middle Somewhat Elevated**

**What you Wish For**

* * *

No one was safe until I got what I wanted.

"Amora!" an amplified voice echoes across the chasm. I nearly drop Walter off the edge. I squint into the mess of smashed cars that line the other side's edge. A stranger in a black suit stands in front of the barricade of smoking wreckage. He is alone, unarmed, short, weak, balding.

"I am from Strategic Homeland Intervention and Logistics Division. My name is Agent Coulson, and lady, you are causing a great deal of trouble."

"And more shall come!"

"Stop what you are doing, surrender, and come peacefully with me or I will be forced to destroy you."

"Destroy me? You?"

He visibly sighs. "I advise you not to underestimate us."

"And who is this _us_?"

An aircraft drops out of the sky into the space where the bridge used to stand. A cold blast of wind from underneath the craft blows ashes and snow into my face and I am forced to stumble backwards dragging the old man with me. I squint into the glass face to see who now stood in my way.

"Let Walter go." A much louder voice, magnified, bursts electronically from the craft.

I wrap my fingers around the old man's neck and pull him close into me. Embracing him, ensnaring his body with my bare arms. Keeping a hand around his neck, I pull his trembling face to mine and touch my lips to his, flat, dry, unloved. I watch as his eyes cloud, fear masked by devotion. He bats me weakly with his hands. Death by asphyxiation. I stare into the glass face of the craft.

"Walter doesn't want to go with you." I mock.

The smallest of noises tips me off. I slam my shield up from behind; matter and energy spills over. I turn to find the Iron Man, hand extended.

"Your rudimentary technology has no effect on my magic, mortal." I drop Walter.

He shoots two more times, bigger weapons hit my shield, are absorbed and recycled into my arsenal of energy.

"Slow learner?" I taunt, walking towards the Iron Man. "Desire a lesson in love?" He springs off the ground and lands a few feet away. "No matter, boy, I am not a patient teacher." And turn to find the aircraft missing.

"I'm not the one who needs lessons, lady." The Iron Man calls out in a synthetic voice. "May I point out that Pepper is happy. I pay for the dates, buy flowers. Save the world occasionally. What more can a girl want?"

"She doesn't eat chocolate," he continues, "because of the sugar, and she doesn't like teddy bears. More of the diamond-Gucci-Ferrari type, if you know what I mean. Kinda like you, am I right?"

I turn to face him again. The Iron Man lifts his hands in mock defense.

"Nothing's wrong with that. Hell, _I _would drive a diamond encrusted Gucci Ferrari if that were a thing. Bruce, on the other hand, would scoff at the idea. He's more of a khaki-department store-Ford type. With a side of rage."

"Bruce?"

The Iron Man points to something behind me. My hackles rise and my stomach drops as a huge green monster takes a running leap from the other side of the chasm. It's like nothing I have seen in this world. No monsters on Earth. Or so I thought. It hangs in the air, the very picture of fury, and then too soon it crashes into the pavement, carving into it like cottage cheese. The earth shakes violently, throwing me.

* * *

"Where are we at?"

"Four major fires are out of control. Two blocks have collapsed into Smuggler mines and are flooded with water. The main road in and out of Aspen is out of commission—the bridge is out. There are two passes, but they are closed for the winter and haven't been plowed in months. The only other road out runs underneath the bridge and is covered in debris. Amora has Walter. Weapons seem to have no effect on her; she has some sort of shield. In short, it's a shit show, Sir."

"What are we doing?"

"Hulk and Stark are keeping her busy. I have Widow, Hawkeye, and ten men on rescue. We are using the gondola and lifts to get as many as we can into ski lodges. Rodgers is gathering doctors, rescue workers and local police from surrounding towns and flying them in to help. We are going to use explosives to unblock the secondary road and start evacuation of east side of town. The only problem is, we have no way of taking her down."

"We need Thor."

"Yeah. Let me just pull my phone out of my pocket give him a ring. He's number one on speed dial. Number one on my favorites."

"Colson."

"Sorry, Sir. I'm just saying."

"Well say something useful."

"What if we gave her what she wants?"

"And what's that?"

"Her daughter."

* * *

My wish came true.

After all of my arguing, pleading and accusing, they had seemed to relize I was right. An agent had flown me to Aspen, handed me the scepter, and told me I could go talk to my mother. I could see why they were desperate enough to listen to me. She had razed the beautiful city of Aspen. It smoked and screamed through the veil of snow, unrecognizable in the ashes. Even with the astoundingly horrible scene before my eyes, it was hard to believe she had done all of this. And single-handedly? Seeing was apparently not believing, after all.

There were huge gauging holes throughout the city, one was the main bridge into town. It had collapsed, and blocked the way in and out. I didn't know if I wanted to find my house or not. The elation of holding onto the scepter kept me from feeling the full effects of what I was seeing. It kept me strong and steady, my anchor and protection. It was pure elation charging through my body through the one hand wrapped around the hilt.

I spotted her easily before we landed, in the middle of the street, facing Iron Man, who stood a little way off, guns raised, but not shooting. It was a stand off. And I was being delivered into her hands to talk her down.

I had about two minutes, now, to face a question I had avoided the entire flight: what was there to say? I would have to come up with something so convincing. Surely there was some way to say that I loved her and that everything would be all right if she just stopped what she was doing and surrendered. I hoped to God that wasn't a lie. It crossed my mind that I might just be bait. If SHIELD was using me to trap my mother I would… I don't know what I would do. I would have to talk me way out of that one, too. Too soon my feet were firmly planted on the ground. Iron Man, my mother and I made a triangle.

"Siri." They both said it, my mother's voice a shrill, happy; Iron Man's was a greeting. I glanced at Iron Man before taking a step towards my mother's gentle smile.

"Leave the scepter." She said suddenly. A pang of hurt bounced through me. She didn't trust me. I hesitated, hating the thought of letting it go. I would be helpless without it. And so exposed. But I had to get my mother to surrender; I had to save her. I changed course and walked it over to Iron Man. My grip tightened the last couple of steps, a farewell of sorts.

As I stretched out my arm to give it up, Iron Man, in a low voice said, "Don't do it." I searched for the man's face behind the iron mask and couldn't find it. Don't do what? Save my mother, his enemy? Don't put my self in harm's way? Don't give him the scepter? I handed it to him; he took it from me, breaking me heart.

I strategically kept my eyes off anything that would upset me. I used my mother as a focus point. Fear and doubt began to bubble up under my fingernails now that the scepter wasn't there to shield me. But I had to do this.

I thought again how it was hard to believe she was the villain in all of this. There was some sort of mental disconnect because I had never actually seen her do anything first hand. For all I knew, she was innocent, set up, and I was being tricked by SHIELD into doing something horrible. I kept moving towards her despite by doubts, keeping my eyes on her familiar and comforting face. There was nothing dark about the look she was giving me. Just confidence and affection.

Snow flew like bees between us until I closed the gap, and I realized I was cold without the scepter. She wrapped her arms around me, fitting the two puzzle pieces of mother and daughter together like they had always meant to fit.

"Mom," I murmured.

She moved her mouth to my ear, tickling me with her whispered words: "Help me."

"I am," I immediately answered in full voice. "I am trying." She pulled away a tiny bit so that she could look at me. There were tears in her eyes and I felt her tremble. Her hands smoothed my hair and she kissed me softly and quickly, as if he she was tucking me into bed. This was my mother and she loved me. This was real. I hadn't realized how much I missed her.

"I'm going to fix this."

She nodded. "Can we talk?"

My breath caught at these words. Was she really going to talk? After all these years of keeping secrets, we could uncover them all and really begin to fix things. There was nothing more in the world that I wanted than to talk to my mother. Really talk.

"It's so cold. Let's go inside." She took my hand and started towards a dark house on the side of street. It was a big modern log cabin. The windows were dark the drive way was empty. No one home. We were breaking and entering, but it really was cold. And if I could fix everything, it was the least these strangers could do to help the situation. It was probably a second or third home anyway—some rich tourists family who only visited a week out of the year to buy fur coats and boots.

I glanced back to Iron Man, who took a step towards us. His reactor glowed bright through the snowstorm. I shook my head, signaling to him to stay put.

The door was unlocked. The warmth of the house invited us in as we shook ourselves free of snow and chill. She flipped a switch and we blinked in the light. Her arms were pale as she moved into the house as if she was completely at home. This felt wrong to me.

The house looked like it had been furnished by rich rednecks. The amount of dead wildlife peaking out from every corner and wall would make a taxidermist drool. A shaggy white goat posed on a rock with a full mountain lion crouched above on a higher rock, frozen in the act of the hunt. The living room couches were not only leather, but still had fur attached. There was even an alligator draped over the fireplace mantel, it's tail tip pointing stiffly to a flock of ducks hanging from the ceiling by fishing wire. Three vintage hunting guns that looked about as old as Davey Crocket, were displayed in a glass case that doubled as a coffee table. The entire room held its breath, paused, waiting to come to life. A shaggy bison head guarded the doorway to the next room. It's black glass eyes seemed to challenge us as we sat down on one couch that might have been the hide of a bear.

The animals listened, I imagined, stirred out of their dreams by the occasional usage of the room. They waited for moments like these when people were around, and then debated for a year about what had been said in their presence. Spies.

I kept my hands off the fur of the couch and brought my focus back to my mother. Now that I was getting the truth from her, I was somehow nervous about what was to come. What if the truth was worse than all I could image? Loki's story, the one he told me those months ago, made her seem…not evil, but manipulative and mean. Fury's accounts of her were worse. In his mind, she was a monster. I fought an emotional retreat, willing myself to stay in the present, stay with her no matter what horrible things she had to confess. I would love her and I would save her.

She leaned back into the wild warmth of the couch. Her eyes softened when she looked at me. I waited and traced the tight skin stretched across bones of her face with my gaze. It was stretched so tight it was almost translucent. A spiderweb of cracks under her lower lashes caught my eye. She met my scrutiny and I felt my face heat.

"It's so good to have you again," she said holding out a hand. I nearly jumped at the break in silence. I willed warmth into her palms, a physical proof of my support. The glass eyes of the bison shone in the light of the hallway. Neither of us had turned on a light in this room, and it was dusky with the soft luminescence spilling out from the hall way.

This was my chance. Now and here.

"Mom. Whatever you did, I don't care. If you kidnapped me, then good. I don't care. I love you. I forgive you. We can work this out."

She continued to look at me and I began to wonder if that sentence sounded as dumb as it felt.

"What. I. Did." She mulled over the words. "What I didn't wasn't wrong, Siri. What I did was save you."

That thought hung in the air between us, an alien thing devoid of shape and real meaning.

"Save me…from what?" I managed.

"From your own family."

And there it was. The confession. My own family. I was not her daughter. Not originally. She had lied.

"You were a tiny, beautiful baby. Those soft cheeks, the most perfect shade of pink. Big bright eyes with long lashes. And you were happy. Of course you were happy. You were spoiled with so many adult siblings and a maid servant, you hardly touched the ground. How could you? Something so lovely, so…sacred could never touch the ground. There was hardly a soul that couldn't look at you an fall instantly in love and want to take you away forever.

"You fit perfectly in my arms, your baby softness, melting into my chest when…you used to nuzzle your face into my neck…I was your maidservant, your nurse, you see. I was responsible for feeding you and changing you and making sure your were well rested. I was your mother even then. I felt it. This overwhelming knowledge that we loved each other, that we needed each other. It might have been my job, but I loved it. I lived for the nights that you woke up crying. I would take you out onto the terrace and we would look at the stars until you fell asleep again. I witnessed your first steps and your first words. Siri, you were always mine.

"I saw the signs first, of course. When you were toddling through the halls or playing with the other children, your sister, Hnoss, closest in age to you at only three years older, would…lurk. While not ugly, she paled in comparison to you, the only other sister. You were clearly the favorite of the family, of the kingdom, and she was swept aside. It was cruel how less loved she was. She would be there while you played, sometimes interacting, sometimes just watched. It started innocently enough, an accidentally crushed tea set, a doll whose head seemed to fall off when you weren't looking. Then it was a pinch. A spiteful word. When she thought I was turned, she might shove you. The abuse continued until one night, at bath time, I turned to find you face down in the water.

"I reported the incident, nearly in hysterics, but I couldn't prove her guilt. When confronted, she blamed me. And whose word do you think they believed? Hers! I was charged with treason and was thrown into prison. I couldn't sleep from worry for you. No one was there to keep you alive. I do have a bit of magic, my mother sent me to study under a sorceress at a young age. I used it for the first time, against the crown, to break out of prison, steal you away and flee. I saved you. From your family's cruelty and stupidity."

Tears dripped off her eyelashes.

"But…Loki…" her story didn't not match up with his in any way.

"You would trust silver-tongued liar who tried his best to destroy Earth over the woman you call mother?" I knew better than to point out the amount of destruction she had caused.

At this point I had a simple decision to make: believe my mother, or believe my brother. Both were volatile, both had an agenda. Both were estranged to me in their own way, but only one had a strong hold on my heart. I had an inexplicable connection to my mother and years of proof that she loved me. I had one secret memory of Loki loving me as a baby. Which was in line with my mother's story. I had one hair comb from Loki, and a lifetime of evidence from my Mother. Loki had despised me. Over and over he had called me frail and feeble, with that looks of disgust that made me feel so low. My mother made me feel so…important.

It felt like there was a spoonful of dirt stuck in my throat. "You have always been my mom, and you always will be," I told her, wrapping myself around her again, feeling the comfort I needed released through the returned embrace.

"And you will always be mine."

"Siri?" I started violently, this word a knife in my back. My mother kept her arms around me. I struggled in her grasp to turn around and find Steve dripping on the carpet. My heart pounded adrenaline-laced blood to every part of my body.

"Move away from her." His voice was low and calm like the eye of storm. He would kill her, if he got the chance. His eyes were locked on her.

"Steve, let me explain." I tried to match his calm determination, but my words quivered. He didn't even look at me.

"There is nothing to explain. She is the enemy."

"No!" The shout broke free from my throat. I lept off the couch to stand in front of her. "Listen to me. She is just trying to protect me. She's not going to hurt anyone—"

"She has killed at least dozens already."

"She surrenders!" I glanced back at her, praying this was the truth. His eyes stayed on her, hatred rolling off him. "Look at me!" Why wouldn't he look at me? "She is my mother, Steve. She saved me! You can't take her!" I just got her back and now someone I thought I knew and trusted was going to take her away.

"I'm not going to take her."

"You aren't?"

"I'm going to kill her."

An animalistic scream, "HELP! HELP ME!" I was screaming. Iron Man was outside. He would listen. Steve moved forward, his eyes glanced finally to mine and in that half second I was scalded by unfamiliar rage. It was a wild fire burning and it would stop at nothing. His hands gripped my arms with steel intention.

"I _am_ helping you." He lifted me out of his way. I launched myself at his face in desperation. A flash of light blinded me and then I was on the carpet with waves of pain pinning me down. My hand felt the spot my nose should be and came away dripping in red. I blinked through the pain, fighting the urge to vomit, commanding myself to get up. Get up and save her.

"Help!" I tried to find my voice again. Why wasn't Iron Man here yet? The world spun when I got to my knees. My legs felt like stalks of grass under me.

An explosion of noise knocked me over again. My ears rang and my heart stopped. A gun shot. Unmistakable. Point blank range. Super solider standing quietly, impossibly tall, a dark mountain, arm outstretched pointing, accusing. A gun, everyone knows the shape of a gun. This was happening. Did I have to tell myself that? I didn't believe it. This was happening.

I had to look. I couldn't look. I forced my eyes to find wilted form of my mother. Crumbled against the monster couch, furry, now bloody. One black hole in the middle of her forehead. Her head resting on the back of the couch, her neck bent backwards. Terrified eyes staring at the ceiling. Her blood splatter across the face of an elk posed behind the couch.

I sobbed. I got to my feet, without consideration, without fear. I put myself into the picture. A remorseless man, dark like a mountain, a woman with a hole in her head, a girl by his side. Now she was taking the gun from him, fitting her hand to the shape.

He still wouldn't look at me. His face was blank. I wanted him triumphant. I wanted him exultant in his crime. I wanted him to be victorious, at the top of the world. I wanted him to feel like he had won. I wanted him to be happy when I took the gun from his limp hand and used the remaining bullets to kill him.

* * *

"Where is she?" Steve could not believe Fury had put Siri in harms way. Again. She was just a girl. She was his girl.

"She went inside a residence with Amora." Stark confessed.

Walter was draped over his arms from when Stark had picked him up off the street. The old man was dead. A knot was slowly tightening. A knot of guilt he felt he didn't deserve. What did he owe Walter? What did he owe Walter's daughter?

"What!?"

"She insisted." Stark said. "One minute ago. She gave the OK signal. It's not my problem."

"What street are you on?"

Stark gave him the address, distractedly watching Hulk punch a hole through a hundred year old pine tree. "I am keeping an eye on it. A scream of metal against metal. Hulk pulled a lamppost out of the ground. The big guy was getting impatient. And frankly out of control. Baby sitting was not Stark's job.

"She was sent in to negotiate." Coulson chimed in, trying to soothe things over. He was forever trying to soothe things over.

"That woman is a maniac! There's no negotiating with her! Trust me on this one." Steve sounded desperate.

"If anyone can get Amora to stand down, it's Siri."

"You don't know what she'll to her."

"She will be fine."

"Go in and get her."

"Steve, have a little faith. She can do this. Update on evacuation."

"Clint and Romanov are heading up the rescue teams."

"And what are you doing?"

There was no answer. Steve pulled the earpiece out, turned it off and stowed. He wasn't panicking. He wasn't. A solider did not panic. A solider used his head and kept his wits about him. He took off at a run towards the address Stark had given him. Anger that verged on insubordination pulled through him. How could they use Siri like that? They were no better than Amora or Loki. She was not a pawn to be traded. She was just a girl.

She was his girl.


	9. Siri dies

**DizyBrunette89, Poodle Warriours, Dark Moons and Whispered Words, Lady Syndra, Eternel3007: Thank you thank you thank you for the feed back. Ya'll are the reason for a quick update. Sorry for the cliff-hanger. At this point in the story everything feels like a cliff hanger to me. I can't believe the amount of new favorites and follows I got in the last couple of days. You guys are the best.**

**Let's do this.**

* * *

**In the Middle Somewhat Elevated...Siri dies.**

* * *

_Something was not right._

I waited. For my future to find me out and sentence me. For someone to walk in and see the blood on my hands. For the dead, the animals, Steve, my mother, to wake and take their vengeance. They didn't. Nothing happened and nobody came for me. The amount of let down was mind numbing. Emptiness threatened to take over.

I was in shock, I knew somewhere in the clinical part of my mind where the last bit of sanity clung. I knew I should do something, protect myself, run, hide, find help, turn myself in, take responsibility for everything. Hide the bodies, leave the bodies, leave the house, move on from this moment. I just couldn't. It was like I was trapped here and nothing was supposed to happen. Time had stopped.

It was silent. And I mean silent. My ear rang because of how much noise was missing. There were no sirens, no calls from a burning city, no voices at all. It was cold. I had stopped shivering minutes ago. Or hours. I was ready for hibernation, for my body to just shut down, taking my mind and heart with it. I would curl up underground and sleep for the rest of my existence.

One problem with that: sleep was not an option. I couldn't even get my eyes to stop looking at my crime scene. They kept tracking the still forms of feral animals, counting one by one, finding glass eyes in each face, neither vindicating nor accusing. Then my eyes would count the people. There was one, my mother, and two, Steve. And they were both dead. Then there was the blood.

So much red. How many liters did a person have. How many did two have? How deep does a puddle of blood have to be; how heavy would the soaked carpet have to be to equal the amount of blood a person has to give?

_Something was not right._

The first time this thought flitted through my mind, squeezing in between the massive waves of guilt, it was just a teasing flash of reason. It grew, though, in my mind every time it reentered my thoughts. It nagged at me, telling me to think, demanding my attention.

Lots of things were not right, but I felt like I was missing one big thing, one giant problem-solver staring me right in the face.

I replayed the scene. My mother and I came inside to get out of the cold. She told me the truth, finally. Steve found us hugging. He shot her. I shot him. I laid down in my sorrow and did not get up.

It all made sense. And yet it didn't. There were questions.

Like why did we go inside in the first place? To get out of the cold, was the obvious answer, but what else did this accomplish? It made our conversation private. It hid anything that could have happened. It was her idea. She wanted privacy or a chance to...to _something_. Why this house? It was convenient. It was right there, when she needed it. It was empty. No witnesses. Her story—I had no reason to not believe her. Everything else in my life was just as absurd. But…

_Something was not right._

This analysis was dragging me out of my numbness. I began to shiver again. There was no voluntary movement in my body, but my mind was awake again. It hurt to think, and it hurt to watch the deaths of the only two people I loved, but the pain real. I knew the pain was keeping me alive, and for some reason I found that once I knew I was going to live, I wanted it. I wanted life.

So I kept my thoughts rolling in and out, picking apart every detail. My mind kept clearing more and more. The idea, something wasn't right, grew. And I kept feeding it. Because there had be a reason for this. There had to be someone or something to blame.

Why wouldn't Steve look at me? He was usually so attentive. He had said he loved me, just hours ago. And yet he wouldn't even give me a second to explain. It was like all he cared about was killing her. He didn't care about me, not in this scene. He was not in character, just a robot super solider with no soul. He hurt me, hit me. It wasn't right.

When he shot her she didn't move. She didn't put up a fight. She had magic. She had powers to save herself and she gave up. After all of the destruction and dramatics, after running away from a whole planet to save her life, she let a single bullet kill her. As if she wanted it to happen. _Why why why_ would she want to die? She had _me_. I was there for her. Why didn't she fight back?

This was the most upsetting. The thought that she would just give up, selfishly let herself die, had hot tears blurring my eyes and the scene I still couldn't stop staring at. And for what? What had she accomplished? Because she let him shoot her, I had killed Steve. Did she know I would avenge her? Could she have planned on me shooting Steve?

This notion bloomed. My tears watered the notion, and like a scarlet flower, the petals of anger opened, spilling over a rich scent of hatred, betrayal and fear.

The idea that this was planned by my mother, that this scene was painted by her, had my heart pounding. I felt it pulse though my shirt, I heard it in my ear. It was physical and visceral. My head turned from the scene, and my eyes closed, shutting out my torture. My forehead now pressed into the carpet. I heard my erratic breathing. I felt searing tears drip, lessening the weight from my lashes. I could taste musk and sand. It was too humid, still cold to the bone. A window had to be open to the winter night.

I could feel my physical body and I took stock, as if I had been away. I had left my body for my mind. My fingers dug in and out of the fibers of the grey carpet feeling the wooly texture, with all of its prickly and spongy qualities.

She had wanted me to kill Steve. Not just kill her enemy. Because what did she really have against Steve? My love for him. Her jealousy for my love. She wanted me to love her only, so much that I would choose her vengeance over his life.

I didn't remember it being so cold before.

Sifting through her lies looked like an impossible task. Where would it end? How hard would I have to dig? I was buried under the fake reality she had created for me.

* * *

"Stark, scan the house. It's been more than five minutes." Never had Fury felt so out of control, standing in center of the control room of S.H.I.L.E.D.'s hellicarier. Not himself, of course, it was the situation that was completely out of control.

There is a reason you don't negotiate with terrorists. It legitimizes their goals and their means. It brings more violence. It gives validation to what they are doing. It gives them power. It weakens your hold on what you might have to begin with. Now he was going to have to backtrack.

That or bring out the big guns.

Fury knew he couldn't blame Coulson; the man was doing all he could, making good use of the pause in Amora's destruction of Aspen, focusing all his energy and resources on putting out fires. Literal and figurative fires.

Stark's voice came through he earpiece sounding bored. "Only if you say please."

"Please, Motherfucker."

Coulson winced. Despite the apparent turn of the tide, this disappearance of Amora, he knew the war was far from over. He was actively treating the symptoms, pulling people out of collapsed streets, but the real disease was missing. Years of experience and intuition told him Aspen was a mere distraction. A teaser. Or something else was coming. Her strategic retreat was unsettling.

"Anything?" Coulson asked Stark.

"Actually…"

"What is it?" Coulson tone and pitch spoke for everyone's nerves. This shit show was disturbing.

"Nothing," Stark reported.

There was a collective pause in the conversation.

"I mean nothing. There is nothing in the house. They are gone."

Tony knew he should have kept his eyes on her. But between his errant thoughts, dead Walter, and an out of control Hulk, he had let the two slip away. The big guy was currently tearing fistfuls of roofing off a historical Victorian house like it was made of straw.

Tony couldn't put down Walter. This guilt was unwarranted and made him feel lightheaded. He was being honest with himself, he would have admitted that he shouldn't be here. These were gods and aliens. He didn't do aliens. Not since….

There was one place he wanted to be and that was tinkering, with Pepper safely in his sight. This was too much like New York. Only there was nothing to physically fight here.

"Stark!"

"Hmm." He shook himself out of his thoughts. He should have gotten more sleep. Fatigue left room for error. Not that he would ever admit that.

"Can you see any attic or basement? Secret passages?" Coulson was asking him.

"Jarvis?" Stark called.

"Yes, sir." Jarvis took apart the house and presented a virtual map of every floor plan on record for this house. Nothing unusual stood out. Foyer hallway, kitchen, living room, in home theater, bedrooms, bathrooms, etc. Nothing giving off a heat signature, nothing with a heart beat.

"All clear."

"No basement?"

"Do you think I can't see through the ground?"

A sigh. "Fine. Set up a perimeter and find them."

"What about cheating? Can she teleport? Make herself invisible?"

"It's not in her record, but keep in mind we didn't know half the things she could do before tonight."

Tony knelt to one knee, softly setting the old man down. Snow began to instantly cover him with a white blanket.

"I call not breaking the news to Rogers," Tony joked. "Because he is going to flip."

* * *

It was agony to ignore the screams; his nature was to save. He had to fight the urge to stop and help everyone he saw.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

A Mercedes dangling by the front two tires, with one male driver too petrified to let go of the steering wheel, minutes from dropping into the black waters of the mines below the collapsed street. Steam rose in clouds as the warmer waters underneath met the icy air of a winter night.

Girls in tight glittery dresses huddled in a shattered storefront window, weeping over the terror before them, blood dripping from minor wounds like their mascara. The less fortunate lay on the street calling a scene of war to mind—soldiers with limbs blown off, stunned in piles of rubble and smoke—only these were civilians, and they needed him. All he could do was apologize to himself as he ran past each new gruesome picture, promising that he would come back after he saved Siri.

Turning a corner, Steve found something he couldn't overlook. A child had climbed out of second story window, her bare feet unsteady on the windowsill. Behind her a fire raged. He could see the horror in her eyes as she scanned the street below. Before there was time to change direction at his pace, the building detonated like a bomb. A huge flash of light and heat threw everything in it's wake like rag dolls. He was too far away. There was nothing he could do while flying through the air. He kept his eyes on her tiny dark form against the intense orange and red, unable to look away as she met her end. This is all he could give her.

Two things happened at once. One, his back connected with something solid, a wall or a car, crunching into it like it was made of snow. And two, another body slid into view, cushioning the child's fall, saving her from the initial impact, and then rolling on top of her. The wave of fire spun over the two bodies and then subsided, leaving behind a smoldering Hawkeye still hunched over the girl.

Pain took Steve's breath away, and then was replaced swiftly with the familiar feeling of bones knitting themselves back together. He extracted himself from the side of a brick building, climbing out to see if Clint had made it through.

Romanov was there, then, pulling Clint to his feet and picking up the limp body of the girl. Steve allowed himself three deep breaths as he watched as Natasha took control of the situation. Clint shook his head, as if to clear it. They had this.

And then Steve was running again. Another building exploded, but had minor repercussions. A restaurant maybe, judging from the fork that flew past his face. He leaped over a crevice in the asphalt, through the steam cloud, momentarily blinded in the fog. He stopped short, almost colliding with a slim figure.

Steve steadied the young man and decided very quickly to make use of this slight delay.

"You OK, son?"

"You. Are not my dad?" The sentence was much too slow and rose at the end, as if in question. Steve smelled alcohol.

"Here, sit down." He impatiently pushed him over to a curb. The boy would likely wander into more danger in this state.

"What are you supposed to be? A 'merican smurf?" The boy began to chuckle.

"Listen, Kid," Steve started, but the boy had leaned against a traffic sign, closing his eyes.

"Red, white and blue. Captain Smurf. Haha." He hiccupped and giggled. "I'm hungry. Or I'm gonna be sick. One or two." He held up three fingers.

"This way to Hallum Street?" Steve pointed, knowing it was probably useless, irritation leaking into his tone. He had wasted too much time here.

Without opening his eyes, the boy pointed up into the air as if to test the wind, whirled it in short circles, then let it come to rest in the same direction Steve had motioned.

"Closed 'cause of displosion. Explosion."

Steve was five strides away, knowing full well that trusting a drunk kid's sense of direction was probably not the smartest. But what were the chances of, without opening his eyes, the boy pointing the same way as Steve?

It got darker the farther away from the center of town, away from most of the chaos. He put on a bit of speed, knowing he was close to the address, squinting into the blizzard. Turning a corner, he nearly slipped on some black ice, but regained his footing almost at the same moment the misplaced foot had landed.

He had no plan of action. He knew that Siri should, under no circumstances, be left with Amora. She was subject to the woman's enchantments. She wanted so badly to believe that Amora loved her and Amora would take advantage of that. With her lies, no doubt. Anger fueled his legs and lungs. When would people stop taking advantage of Siri? First Amora, now Fury.

The house was dark, made of big wooden logs, a massive mock of a cabin in the woods. It dwarfed the bare trees planted around. There were no lights on, and this was the first thing that alerted him. When houses are occupied at night, there are lights. Negations did not happen in the dark.

Stark was nowhere in sight. The distant rumble of Hulk's growl told Steve that the big guy was less than a mile away. Steve jogged around the sides of the house and found no signs of recent action—no footprints. The snow was falling fast, however, masking any evidence that might have been. It was too quiet. There was no one inside.

He was certain that Stark gave him the wrong address until he spotted a lump under the snow, in the driveway. He knelt, brushing about six inches of fresh snow off a corpse. It was jolt to the heart when Steve recognized Walter. The old version of Walter, with papery skin and laugh lines. They were young men together once. He would never get used to this, seeing friends age, seeing friends dead.

Bruising around the neck meant someone strangled him. Small hands. Amora. Steve scanned the area again, not finding much more explanation. The house across the street was demolished, and one street lamp was bent in half and hanging from a pine tree.

A slight differentiation in the color of snow caught his eye. Steve dug out the scepter, glowing brilliantly in the darkness.

"Goddamit!" Steve exploded. Siri didn't even have the scepter to protect her. He ripped the earpiece out of the hide-away pocket, turned it back on and stuffed it in his ear, ready to give Fury a piece of his mind.

A ghost slipped in through the snow, dark eyes visible under the orangey glow of a street lamp. Bare arms hung at her sides. Empty handed but not unarmed, Amora stepped lightly through the drifts of snow, approaching at a pace that exuded confidence.

"Steve is that you?" Coulson's voice came through the ear piece.

"I have eyes on Amora," Steve replied, lightly touching his ear.

"Where is your location?"

Steve took one step towards Amora, and then didn't stop. He met her at the end of the driveway, an arm's length away.

"Steve?" Coulson buzzed in his ear.

"Where is she?" Steve's voice surprised him. It was low, feral. A growl.

She pursed her lips into what could have been a smile. "Let's have a little chat, shall we?"

"Tell me where Siri is!"

"No. Not yet. That's not how it works."

"How does it work?"

"One of two ways. We have a heat to heart, you give me an answer, Siri doesn't die. Or. You touch your ear again, Siri dies. You move before I tell you to, Siri dies. You make a scene, Siri dies. You hurt me, Siri dies."

Steve dearly wished he could have called her bluff. But no one really knew what this woman was capable of. His hands floated away from his body to show his compliance.

"What do you want?"

"I want what everyone wants. To live."

"Fine. Give me Siri alive, and we will let you go."

"That is not how it works!" her voice rose in pitch, giving her a dangerous edge. A knife against the softness of a throat. His hands came up in surrender. "I am not a moron." She spat the word at him. "No. Let's talk about what you want, solider."

"I want Siri."

"You want revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Yes. You want justice. You want me to suffer for what I've done. You call yourselves Avengers, yes? What's one step further than avenging? It's personal now, for me. You took Siri away from me. You took away the only being to fully trust and love me. You turned her against meIt's personal for you too. You care if she lives or dies. You want personal justice for what I've done to her."

"What have you done?" his voice was thick.

"I've…damaged her."

Steve took an involuntary step towards Amora.

"Aht." She clucked. "That was your warning. Next time she dies."

He felt his insides churning. Hopelessness was not a feeling he was used to. It was a feeling that dripped like poison.

"The first wound was the sundering of her family. I stole her away. Next I took any chance of having power away from her. Away from Asgard, away from her status as royalty, away from gods, she is nothing more than human. She grew weak on Earth, never cultivating any power she might have had. I lied to her. I wore her down to the anxiety-ridden states she lives in." She said this matter-of-factly without trace of malice.

Steve's heart was pounding and he was using every inch of his control not to tear the woman apart. He focused on the slight greying of the sky. The night was becoming old.

Amora's voice softened, her face glowed with pleasure. "I am her drug. She needs me. She is mine. I made sure of that. Till her last breath she will love me. She would trade any life for mine." Her eyes rested on some faraway place, happily, peacefully.

Steve was trembling, buzzed on intense anger. Helplessness was now clawing at the back of his throat.

"And then I made her believe you killed me."

"What!"

"She is dreaming now of a room filled with my blood. You shot me, you see, right after she confessed her undying love for me."

"No, I didn't." Although, he wished at this point, he had.

"Tell _her_ that. She believes it. She believes it so much that she killed you, too. Who are you to say her dreams aren't reality?"

"Why?" it was just a whisper. It was all he could manage.

"Why does she love me? Because I am her mother. Why is she mine? Because I always get what I want, and I want revenge. Why am I telling you? Because I want you to know just how broken she is. You don't want her, now, solider."

"Steve?" It was Coulson, voice lowered. Steve masked his surprise by bringing a hand to eyes, a position of doubt and misery. Steve had switched his comm to two-way just before Amora told him not to touch his ear again. Whoever had been listening, heard the whole thing.

"We'll get her back." Coulson continued, speaking just above a whisper so as not to tip off Amora. "Ask her again what she wants."

Steve swallowed. "What do you want?"

Amora took a long time answering. "It's simple really: to live. I want off this forsaken planet. I want immunity from Odin and I want freedom."

"We don't have that kind of authority," Coulson said quickly.

"I can't speak for Odin, but no one here is stopping you from leaving, as long as you leave peacefully and tell me where Siri is," Steve said.

"You will bring me the King of Asgard. He will give me his word, or Siri dies. Then I will not stop until every city on Earth is sunk into the ground. Aspen is just a taste of what I can and will do."

"Tell her she will get what she wants," said Coulson.

"Deal," Steve told Amora. "Where is she?"

"Patience."

"Is she safe?"

"For now. Tell your people not to dawdle. The waters are rising."

Steve's heart jumped.

"Got it loud and clear, Rodgers. Wait for orders."

_Waters._ Colorado was not an abundant place of water. Landlocked, it had rivers and lakes. In Aspen, there was only one body of water rising. The rivers running through the ancient mine shafts underneath Aspen. She was buried, or hidden underground. She was in the mines.

* * *

**Thank you, again for the feedback! It only makes the story better. Love all you fellow Avengers!**

**-Coy**


	10. Artifact

_**In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated**_

_**Artifact**_

* * *

It was time for the big guns. Not literal guns, though Fury did like those. Amora's offense was a good defense. She had shields that not even Hulk could get through. Guns weren't going to work on her. No, this gun was much more than a simple weapon. This gun had _authority._

Agent Hill cleared her throat. Again. It was a simple sound, but it carried the weight of her thoughts.

"Can I get you a cough drop?"

"Sir, it's the Council."

"It's always the Council, Maria. Take a message." The Council were in place to keep Fury in check, but it always ended up being Fury who kept the Council in check.

"Not your secretary." It was almost too quiet to catch, a light grumble under her breath.

"I've learned that getting the Council involved before we've won gets my people into trouble. I will speak to them after we have Aspen under control. They can give me a raise, then, if that's what they're after." Fury's confidence is what got him this job, and confidence was what was going to safeguard it.

"They were pretty insistent."

"Well, insist back."

"Yes, Sir." She paused. "Any news from Selvig?"

"The big gun is on its way. Aspen is in for some funny weather."

* * *

The problem with the Avengers was not getting them to work towards the same goal. The problem was getting them to work _together._ Sure, it was easy for a superhero to save the world alone, get all the credit, be only accountable to himself. Try organizing all those egotistical live wires; try getting them to simply communicate.

In New York, there had been something to fight, something to keep the kids busy and on the same track: beat the living daylights out of aliens. Close the portal. Get Loki. Aspen was proving less manageable. They were all over the place. God only knew where Hulk was or what he was smashing.

SHIELD agents were obedient and loyal. They were trained as individuals to become a part of a team. Clint and Romanov were not an issue. It really wasn't even Stark at this point. It was Rodgers. When the super solider was thinking right, he was the best of any team member, taking hits, sitting on the sidelines if necessary, pulling his own weight. He was loyal to the bone and stood for everything good in this world. Coulson had loved Captain America before he even knew the man was real. But Rodgers wasn't thinking right. Coulson couldn't blame him for it. Heart trumped head.

Coulson had witnessed Rodgers deliberately go off on his own when it wasn't the team plan. Steve had left his post, took out his comm, cut off SHIELD, and stopped doing his job, which was to rescue the civilians of Aspen. He stopped being Captain American and became a desperate man, who just happened have super powers.

Coulson had heard every word Amora had said to Rodgers. If it had been his own girl Amora had been talking about, Coulson would have been off the charts, inconsolable. Might even turn into the Hulk. Coulson knew a desperate man when he saw one, and Steve was on the edge of a breakdown, would kill himself just to get at Amora's throat. Which is why he had sent Romanov and Hawkeye as back up. The National Guard had finally got their asses in gear and were taking over clean up and rescue.

"Stark, you still there?" It was a valid question.

"Not for long. Looks like I am going underground."

"Hope you're not claustrophobic."

* * *

This is what it meant to be a team player. Historically, Tony was not a team player; he didn't play with any teams. There had been that one time when he had put up with SHIELD's bullshit, even took orders from Rodgers. And now yet another alien was looking to take Earth. This was different in more than just a few ways. Tony felt something towards Siri. Not friendship and definitely not amorous. It was a family debt. Siri's father was Tony's father's partner. This feeling was that Tony owed Siri something. And he didn't like owing people. It was there all the same, a strange comradery with Walter and the debt to his stepdaughter.

"Jarvis, get me a map of the mines."

"Right away, Sir." A blueprint of what lay beneath the surface of Aspen was superimposed on Tony's birds-eye-view of the town. Visibility was getting better now that the snowfall let off and early morning set in.

"You any good at mazes, Jarvis?"

"I _am_ programmed to identify patterns—"

"Alright buddy, no need to get a big head."

Not only was the mine directly underneath the streets of Aspen, it was flooded with water and there were areas marked as abandoned.

"Sir, blasting the rock could cause another collapse in the mine."

"I know, dummy. I do have a handy suit. It keeps me safe."

"May I remind you that Siri does not. Even a subtle disturbance could create a cave in."

The map of Smuggler Mine hovered in his view for a moment longer.

"Why don't you just stick to scanning for heat patterns."

"Yes, Sir."

"That's better."

_You think I can't see though the ground? _His own words echoed back to him. Seeing through the ground is one thing. Basements were only a few yards under. The mines went deeper than heat signatures would pick up. Deeper than his comm might be able to sustain. If he was trapped under there, not even Jarvis would be able to save him.

"Show me all caverns. If she's still alive she'll be in an air pocket." Tony climbed in elevation until he could see the entire town without having to move his head.

"I believe the term is 'ballroom', not 'cavern'." Jarvis corrected.

"We're not going to a dance, Jarvis. We are pulling off a daring rescue."

The blueprints lit up in six _ballrooms_. Two were collapsed and near to the surface of the ground. The rest were deep. Deeper than Iron Man's suit was optimized to sustain.

"We are were doing about pressurization? For Siri."

"Not a thing, Sir."

"Homework, then. I'm counting on you, buddy. Time to go spelunking."

"Sir, I must advise against this plan. The levels of hydrogen sulfide are dangerous in two of the ballrooms."

"You can be my bird." Tony found the entrance that was still used as a tourist attraction. It was elevated, beginning the decent from the side of one mountain, and would be dry.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know. My bird. They used to take them in to the mines and when they stopped singing it was time to hold your breath and skedaddle. Look who knows more than Mr. Know-it-all."

Jarvis ignored the jibe. "There may be explosives left in the dry areas. Methane. Not to mention the water currents."

"Jarvis, stop mommy-ing me."

"Sir, somebody has to be your mother and Pepper isn't here."

"Hey. Pepper isn't my mother. She's my girlfriend."

There was no answer.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

The mouth of the mine was locked, but it was simple enough to use laser to cut a doorway of his own.

"Are we air-tight?"

"Always."

"Good. Start singing, birdy."

* * *

A flickering of light played through my closed eyelids. It was beginning to feel like rock under my hips and shoulder blades. Silence pressed into me like a separate atmosphere, damp and cold. I could almost place the smell. It was a dirty smell. Earth undisturbed or something metallic. Untouched dust. None of this matched the picture in my head, of the scene I was shutting out by refusing to open my eyes: the living room. The animals with their glass eyes. The flurried snow fall outside the window. The town I grew up in burning and collapsing into the ground. Steve…

I opened my eyelids. A tiny flame danced, solitary, only as big as my thumb, fighting a vast darkness. I stared at the flame in bewilderment. I couldn't stop looking at the flame, my only source of light, warmth and comfort. It was blinding me to my surroundings. Watching the bight little flickering, my eyes had adjusted so that they couldn't see anything in the dark.

I began to push myself into a sitting position, but froze when the ground beneath me shook and squeaked. A cracking sound, like thin ice grunted out and then echoed. I waited, heart beating madly.

The fear of the unknown gradually overrode my fear of making my situation worse. I moved my hand, so slowly, out away from my body, to feel the ground. Tiny sparks of pain pinched into my fingers and palms. I hissed; the sharp sound echoed and I cringed. I felt my fingers with my other hand. The surface of my palm was prickly, like cactus. Splinters. Wood. I was lying on wood. Ever so gently I felt my way over a couple of what I found to be planks. I stared at my ground, refusing myself the comfort of the light of the candle until I could just make out the different shades of black. Barely illuminated I would see the different planks under me.

I didn't have the will power to cry. I was too confused and terrified. It was all happening so fast. My brain couldn't keep up. And somehow it was happening too slowly. There was the dark and there was me and my candle. There was wood. That's it. Information was coming to me too slowly in the black, in the silence.

"Hello?" I called out softly. Whispers of echo greeted me, but nothing original responded. I shut my eyes. I was alone. I was alive and not hurt. I was cold. I was in a big room. A big dark cold room. The wood beneath me was squeaking and cracking and could break under my weight, and I had no idea what was below. It was silent. It was damp. I wanted out.

Some obscure part of my brain told me to distribute my weight. I obeyed, softly sprawling myself out on my stomach. I stretched my legs and the toe of one foot fell into a hole. I froze.

Nothing happened. The mystery was killing me. I had to risk it. I whimpered and then burst into action, scooting backwards so my feet could explore the size of the hole. The wood beneath me swayed like a ladder. The sound was terrifying as I wiggled my way backwards to the edge of the hole, but nothing gave out. I was dangling from the waist down, trying to feel for some floor or a ladder, anything to get me off these unstable planks. It was thin air beneath.

I began to pull my self back up when it all gave out with a crack. I was falling and then I wasn't. I hit hard ground. My forehead detonated and a flash of light blinded me. I laid there, on a rock floor, not smooth but flat, carved, breathing heavily through this new pain. Why should I get up? I thought. What did it matter? My heartbeat hammered at the top of my chest, loud enough for me to hear.

My thoughts raced while my body was still. Who would do this to me? Who had enough hatred towards me they wouldn't just kill me, but stick me six feet underground still alive? Would Fury? For shooting Steve? A knife lodged deep between my ribs. What had I done? Tears stung my dry eyes, clearing them of dust. I felt sick. I felt like screaming. I began to shake instead. Had I actually done it? It felt like a nightmare.

I was lost. I couldn't even find a truth in my own head, a north.

If the living room was real and the cave was a dream, then this was my purgatory for shooting Steve. I would rather be stuck here in this rock room, alone, in the blackness with a single candle, than be back in that living room with all the blood. I didn't know what was real anymore, but I would choose this every time. I would stay here forever, tortured. It wasn't worth trying to find a way out and it wasn't worth trying to wake myself up. I was still alone.

If this cave was real, and it definitely felt real, tangible, and the living room was a lie, I had to get out. I had to survive. I grasped this thought tenuously, afraid to break it, afraid to loose it. I wasn't ready for death. I couldn't completely give up. We cling to life no matter how terrible it is. It's only human nature. The only way to go was to believe the cave was true and the living room was false.

I had been holding the dust in my lungs, slowing my heart to a steady drum. I would live, or I would die trying.

"Okay." I said out loud. "Okay." I needed a plan of action. I needed some kind of hope.

"Steve is alive." The sound of these words rang out like a cathedral bell, hung in the air, vibrating into my soul. It was a beautiful sound. "Steve is alive and it was all a lie." More of these bells joined the first making a song that would carry me through this hell. "Steve didn't shoot my mother. I didn't shoot Steve." With every vowel, every syllable I knew these bells to be true.

I stood myself up, brushing off bits of what looked like the remains an ancient, short scaffold. The skeleton of the scaffold held, as well as the last two planks and the candle. The wood I had been lying on was old and rotten and had given up under my weight. I could easily reach the candle and it's ceramic stand, perched precariously on the remaining intact plank. Wax dribbled onto my fingers, scalding my chilled skin. I held the light up and squinted into the black.

The floor around me was rock, yes, and carved, or scraped away. Man made. I walked forward slowly, keeping one arm out in front. Glancing at the floor and into the darkness before me I made my way farther than I thought possible, until my fingers touched more rock. It stretched infinitely up and to my right and left as far as I could tell.

The only sounds were my breath and the shuffling of my feet as I explored. With a jolt of fear, I realized I didn't know if I could find my way back to the scaffold. It seemed important for some reason, that I know how it find it. I stopped moving, scared again, suddenly.

I began to compile a list of things.

1. A candle, as long as my hand.

But nothing to relight the candle. I immediately cupped my free hand around the flame protectively and made sure to breathe to the side. Warmth tingled in my fingers, a whisper of comfort. I had the clothes on my back. I hadn't changed them since…since before this all started.

2. The clothes I wore to work out in.

3. The wood from the scaffold.

That is if I could find the scaffold again.

4. And a hair tie.

I sighed, unable to think of anything else. It's not like I was on some survivor reality TV show where I could eat the termites in the wood and drink my sweat. I didn't know how to make a rope out of the elastic from my hair tie. I wasn't trained for this. I didn't know what I was going to eat or drink or how I would keep from going insane in the dark alone after the candle went out.

I had to find a way out before that happened. Or I had to prolong the light. I could build a fire! I immediately moved in the direction I thought the scaffolding had to be. The flame flickered treacherously. I slowed to almost a halt and moved like I was walking across a tightrope. With one arm outstretched I put one foot in front of the other and peered past the ring of light my candle provided.

When I went farther than I thought the scaffolding had been, I stopped. I had to keep moving, searching until I found something. A way out. The wood. I clue to where I was. I felt out into the dark, fighting the creeping feeling that one gets in complete darkness. There is nothing scarier than the unknown.

"Steve is alive." I told myself again.

I reached another wall. This one had a gauge in it. Rocks lay at the base of the shallow hole. The inside was a different color than the rest of the wall. It still looked man-made. No stalagmites or stalagmites. Who put me in this mine? The _who_ wasn't as important as the _how_. If I could figure out I got in here, I could get out.

A mine had passages. I put my free hand against the wall and followed it to the left, knowing I probably wouldn't find the wood this way, but maybe I could find an escape. I had been put in here somehow. There had to be an exit. There had to be. I walked, watching my candle trying to judge the rate at which it was burning.

The ground in front of me was black suddenly, and shiny: water. My blurred reflection, illuminated by the candle, flickered on the surface. Squatting, I put my hand into it. It was freezing. I had water then. But probably would make me really sick if I drank it. How long did it take for giardia to set in?

I was on a very slight incline, leading down into the water. I stood and began tracing the edge. It curved sharply around, indicating it was not very wide. I knelt, carefully setting the candle down and rolled up my sleeve. It went deeper towards the center. I unzipped my jacket and laid it next to the candle. I fought to keep my balance as I dipped my arm in to the shoulder reaching for the bottom, but felt nothing but the icy pressure of deep water.

_Stay near the water or move on to find the way out?_

I could survive a long time if I had water, as long as it didn't poison me. How long would I have to wait? Doubt assailed me again. I needed more time, which meant I needed a longer candle or more fire, which meant that I needed that wood. If I could find the wood and then make a fire near the water, I would have at least something that resembled a camp. But if I spent too much time looking for the wood and the candle burnt down I would be lost without water or the wood or light.

Then there was always the option of moving on. And I couldn't just sit here taking all the time thinking about it.

_Choose_, I willed myself.

I was moving on. I was going to find the way out. The thought of waiting was unbearable. I slipped my arms back into the light jacket, grateful for the extra protection from the damp. The candle was shorter. I had wasted too much time at the water. I gave the dark hole one last thought, put the palm of my left hand against the wall and set out again, picking up my pace. Nothing changed in the dark. There were no more holes filled with water, no more wooden scaffolds. The ground didn't rise or fall; there wasn't even any rocks bigger than my feet. I stopped watching the floor of the cave, and desperation dripped in to my mind with every step.

The toe of my right foot caught; my left shin made contact with a hard edge and I flew forward automatically dropping the candle in favor of catching my fall. The candle skittered, still alight to about a foot in front of my face. I reached for it so I see what I had cracked my shin on.

The blood in my veins congealed. My hand hovered in mid air. The ring of light illuminated a pile of rounded sticks stacked haphazardly, coated in a thick layer dust. For a split second I thought they were more candles. That second was bliss compared to what followed.

* * *

"Sir, seismic activity coming from the direction of ballroom number five."

The map shifted to show the particular ballroom Jarvis was talking about. Tony slowed to float above a vertical drop in the water-filled tunnel. The current took him a foot backwards as he took a moment to memorize the way to ballroom number five.

"Bingo."

He awkwardly maneuvered through the water to turn himself upside down and then put on a bust of speed that would take him twenty feet straight down, where he would turn left for a hundred feet. The water was clouded in the mines, visibility was low, and he kept running into rotten beams of timber, bursting right through them on accident.

Jarvis had stayed with him after all. Tony had underestimated his own technology. SHILED, however, was long gone.

"Picking up massive heat signatures." An explosion.

Another burst of speed, three more turns and then he was pointing north. He broke through the water, skidding to a halt before he hit the roof of the ballroom. He saw her immediately, doused in black dust, sprawled at one end of the massive room, a gauging hole in the floor opposite her body position.

Dynamite.

His mask retracted. "Siri!" her clothing was smoking but her skin didn't look burnt. "Siri!" He knelt and listened for breath. She was alive. He knew he shouldn't move her, there could be internal damage.

Jarvis began scanning before Tony could get the words out. A few broken ribs, a small crack in her skull behind the left ear. He hadn't built more than X-ray capabilities into this mark, so internal bleeding could not be assessed. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Hey, Siri, open your eyes. Can you hear me? Come on Siri."

She blinked into the light of the reactor and his eyes. Her arms moved to pushed herself up. He put a finger lightly but firmly on her forehead.

"Hold up, Flash, you could be injured."

"Mr. Stark?"

"You can call me Tony now. I think formalities are no longer needed, what with the saving of your life and all."

"Is this real?" her eyes were huge. Dilated pupils. Concussion or just the dark?

"What year is it?" He demanded.

"What?"

"The year."

"2012."

"What happened?"

"I…I don't...I went in to that house, with, with… and then…" her eyes began to glaze. Uh oh.

"Siri, you keep your eyes open. Don't even think about blinking unless I say so. Got it?"

"How did I get in a mine? Who put me in here?" her tone rose, panic on the edge of her tongue.

"Amora."

"Amora? My…Emeilia?"

"Yep. Insane alien kidnapping enchantresses who lie do these types of things. Don't feel special. What hurts? Can you move your toes? Anything broken?"

She took a moment to take inventory, while Tony thought again about how she was going to survive the way out.

"My head. My back."

"Okay, you'll live." Tony said with no authority on the matter. "Listen I have some bad news and some good news." She waited, blinking without his permission.

"How are you with holding your breath?"

"Uh…"

"Cause the bad news is that the only way out of here is filled with water." That wasn't the only bad news.

Her face fell. "Good news?" she whispered.

"Yeah, I don't actually have any good news. You are stuck with me." He helped her to her feet.

"I can get us out of here in under a minute, but it's going to be cold, and it's going to be scary. Think you can handle that?"

She nodded, lying to them both.

"There we go. We'll be sipping martinis on the beach in no time. Oh, wait. That's right. You like tequila."

He was rewarded with a blush. He resisted the urge to smile.

"That reminds me, don't you owe me, what was it, half a lime?" Tony pulled her gently to her feet. She couldn't look him in the face.

"I will buy you a truck load of limes if you get me out of here."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need those by Friday." He got a good hold with one arm around her torso.

"Big party coming up?" she replied grimacing as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"The biggest. A lime party. It's all the rage."

They hovered over the hole, ready for the plunge. Fear played over her face.

"Thirty seconds. You can time me."

She nodded, closing her eyes. With his mask in place he waited for her to take the last breath.

The thrusters were thrown off by not only the added uneven weight, but the loss of stability usually provided by both hands. The tunnels were tight and full of debris that would kill her if he didn't keep an eye out and/or shield her from it with his free arm. The plan was to take the first two turns to the nearest vertical shaft, ride that to the last level of tunnels and then blast through the surface. Jarvis would take over for the last leg.

Tony did not envy Siri. The water was icy, she was blind, totally unprotected and unable take a breath, not to mention the pressure of being underwater this deep. He did not have the heart tell her that the last moments were going to be the worst and could possibly kill them both.

The first two turns were sticky and it was already twenty seconds before he hit the vertical. He had to slow once take out an overturned and rusted cart, so they could fit. Once they were at the vertical, he stopped, readying himself for what had to happen.

"Alright Jarvis. Take us home."

Then without further ado he crushed Siri to his body expelling all the air from her lungs in one big bubble. Her eyes flew open in terror and pain. Guilt and fear plauged Tony's mind. Maybe he should have warned her after all. They had less than a minute before she was a gonner.

She flailed against Iron Man, using up the last of the oxygen in her body. He held her ribs firmly, so she wouldn't take in any water. as they He watched her eyes roll back.

"Jarvis! She's fading! Override decompression protocol."

Jarvis wasn't moving fast enough. Siri would drown before decompression sickness could take her. His arm rose and put a hole through ground overhead, blasting through to the world above.

* * *

**So I have plenty of excuses for not keeping up with this story, but I am sure you would all just rather me spend that time working on the next chapter ;)**

**Thank you, readers, new followers, and people who have given this story your badge of approval. An extra huge thank you to the reviewers. Your feedback is food for the soul. If I could send the Avengers over to your place for a party, I would. Scratch that, I would just invite you to Tony's epic lime party he's throwing on Friday.**

**Cheers!**

**Coy**


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